


Girls Over Flowers

by orangeblacktea



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:41:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 73,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2193876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeblacktea/pseuds/orangeblacktea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dalton Academy—a school of prestige, refinement and the country's wealthiest students—houses the famous F3. When "commoner" transfer student, Rachel Berry directly offends F3's leader, Quinn Fabray, she becomes their target. Mayhem ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lifestyles of the Rich

Finn Hudson-Hummel somehow just knew it was going to be a bad day.

He had woken up in the morning with a terrible feeling in his stomach. It had rolled, rumbled, and growled in protest, begging him to stay in bed and forgo what was sure to be a terrible experience at Dalton Academy. Yet he ignored it. Maybe he was just hungry. He was a rather large, growing boy after all.

Finn glanced at the white and dark-gray Dalton issued sweat suit hanging on his closet door. He wasn't sure why he suddenly felt a sense of foreboding.

After a hearty breakfast served in his bedroom suite, a quick shower, and a sharp knock on his door from his butler telling him that his driver had arrived, he was ready to face the day. He was also informed that his step-brother, Kurt, had already left for school.

Later, as the car pulled up to Dalton's looming structure he couldn't help the gulp as he stepped out of the sleek car.

Something just didn't feel right.

Things were eerily quiet as his stomped up the stairs through the embroidered double doors. His footsteps echoed in the hallway as he made his way to his locker. He took a quick look around. Where was everyone? He didn't come any later than usual, and at this time, the hallways were usually bustling with the latest gossip.

Finn stared at his locker, and as he raised his hand to release the latch, a shiver of trepidation shook his frame. The foreboding feeling increased exponentially when he finally opened the metal door.

A crimson 4x4 card with simple black lettering fluttered to his feet.

"What the—" He reached a trembling hand down to pick up the card, only to drop it again with a gasp.

He had been targeted.

"Finn Hudson!" A student sounded loudly from behind him. "He's been red-carded!" The sudden trampling of footsteps should have sent out a clear warning to Finn, but he hardly heard them. All he saw—with startling clarity—was the bold 'F3' printed on the card's surface.

"Hey, Hudson!" He finally broke from his stupor from the familiar voice. Noah Puckerman, son of a wealthy NFL player—stood directly to his left cracking his knuckles. "I'm sorry," his gleeful demeanor automatically falsified his apology. "But you know the rules: Whatever F3 says, goes."

As Puckerman took a threatening step forward, Finn took an immediate step back. He took in the multiplying number of students forming behind the mohawked boy, and a quick, barely noticeable glance behind him let him know that the other end of the hallway was currently empty. But if past memory served him right, it wouldn't be that way for long.

When Puckerman craned his neck from side to side, Finn decided to act on a split second decision.

His backpack landed with a thud on the marble floor and he ran as fast as his feet could carry him with the student body hot on his heels.

He had been Red Carded by the F3.

***

Rachel Barbara Berry somehow knew that it was going to be a bad day.

She had woken up with a twinge in her gut, a very slight uncomfortable feeling that could have easily been passed off as early morning hunger. But Rachel knew better. She did have somewhat of a sixth sense, after all.

She was asked by her dads this morning to do what was supposed to be a simple delivery before school. Her fathers—Hiram and Leroy Berry—owned a small, but modestly successful local tailoring business ("Berry's Buttons: If your clothes are a little too airy, get them tailored by a Berry!"), and one of their unique services was clothing delivery. Today's delivery just so happened to be located at the prestigious Dalton Academy.

Rachel had seen numerous pictures and read a few articles about the upper class school, but none of those could even come close compared to the real thing. She peered through the windshield of her tiny blue car at the magnificent building.

"This…this can't be an actual school." Rachel muttered to herself. 

She fumbled with her door handle and stepped out of the car as she took in the brick architecture and bright green ivy climbing along the building walls. She glanced down at the beautiful unblemished tile that made up the pathway to giant wooden double doors and took in the massive green lawn that surrounded the pathway on both sides with a quick spin.

"Wow." The usually talkative girl was in awe at the beauty of the campus.

Rachel yanked open the back door of her car to grab the bagged clothing and wandered towards the school, with more details becoming apparent as she neared the entrance; the meticulously trimmed bushes, numerous quotes etched into the walkways, and the school's coat of arms embroidered onto the massive wooden doors. The entire school seemed to burst at the seams with wealth.

She glanced down at the receipt in her hands, she was supposed to deliver this to a student that attended here. She shut her eyes, took a deep breath and pushed her way through the entrance.

The interior of the building was probably more magnificent than the exterior. Her jaw dropped at the large chandelier in the center of the room, while also taking in the marble flooring sprawled out before her on the first floor, along with numerous winding staircases with finely crafted Victorian railings. She stood for several moments savoring her surroundings before she realized she didn't have a clue as to where to go. The main office had to be somewhere nearby.

The sounds of thundering footsteps and distant yells pulled her attention towards the nearest staircase. She took a cautious step forward, wondering if was a good idea to investigate, but the loud scream for help solidified her cause. She ran up the stairs as quickly as possible with the bagged clothing still clutched tightly between her hands. She raced through hallway after hallway and multiple staircases following the sounds of a jeering crowd until she burst through a stairwell door that exited to the roof.

"You're not going to jump, Hudson. Just come down and take your punishment like a man." A boy, from somewhere near the front of the crowd, teased. "You know the drill."

Rachel, panting and out of breath, stood on the tips of her toes only to see a rather tall boy teetering on top of the metal railing along the edge of the roof. What the hell was he doing?

"Leave me alone, or I'll do it—I-I'll jump!" The boy took a threatening step along the edge, causing the majority of the crowd to gasp; especially a particularly well-groomed boy directly to her right.

"What's going on?" Rachel asked to no one in particular, but the boy next to her answered (after a distasteful once over that left Rachel feeling self-conscious).

"Based on your awfully cheap skirt and sweater combo—" Rachel gasped in indignation. "It's safe to say that you aren't from around here."

He looked around to see that no one was eavesdropping and leaned to whisper conspiratorially into her ear. "You see the bloodied up boy standing near the edge of the roof?"

Rachel stood up on her tips of her toes once again to get a closer look, only to cover her mouth in shock. The boy did seem rather beaten up and he looked panicked. She nodded her head to affirm.

"That's my step-brother, and he's been Red Carded by F3."

Rachel blinked. "Red Carded? Wait, what's…what's F3?"

The boy turned to face her sharply with look that was absolutely catatonic.

"You don't know who the Flower 3—" He paused mid sentence and performed his condescending once-over a second time. "Of course you wouldn't know this —but it doesn't matter. Someone needs to stop him from jumping!"

Rachel furrowed her eyebrows. Though she didn't care for his tone, she didn't quite understand his way of thinking. "So if you're his brother, why don't you stop him?"

He looked appalled by the idea alone. "Are you kidding me!" He screeched. "Finn Hudson has been exiled by the school's royalty themselves! Me, taking up for him, pretty much guarantee's that I'll be thrown off that roof right along with him, and someone needs to carry on the family name."

Rachel gaped at the boy next to her. He had to be joking, right? Was this high society's way of thinking? If that was the case, she wanted no part in their world.

But wait —

Did he just say Finn— "…Hudson?"

With a quick glance down at her delivery receipt to confirm the name, Rachel began pushing and shoving her way through the uniformed mass.

"Finn!" Rachel panted over the crowd. She swore she would go back to her elliptical routine the moment she left this place. "Finn Hudson!" She waved his bagged navy blue uniform as high above her head as possible. "I have a delivery for—" She finally broke to the front of the crowd and was now face to face with a shocked looking Finn Hudson. She huffed from exertion and put her free hand on her knee to catch her breath.

She really needed to get back into shape.

"I-I have a delivery for you."

The tall boy narrowed his right eye, as his left was nearly swollen shut. "I'm currently in a life or death situation, and you're attempting to delivery me my uniform?"

Rachel shrugged and held out the clothes along with the receipt. "Now if you'll just get down from the railing to pay me…" She attempted. Rachel could care less about the money when the boy's life was in danger.

A roar of laughter emitted from the crowd and Finn laughed humorlessly as he wiped at his bloody nose. "You can settle that with my family after I fall," He waved his hand over to throng of students giggling at his display. "Because that's what you guys want isn't it! To get rid of me?"

Rachel slowly laid the bagged clothing on the floor and took a cautious step forward. "Please get down, F-Finn. Whatever it is, I'm sure it can be solved without resorting to such drastic measures—"

"You have no idea what their capable of!" He shouted at the girl. "F3 will make my life a living hell!"

"Seriously, stop being such a drama queen, Hudson. The last thing Dalton needs is your inner bits splattered across the pavement." A mohawked boy behind her taunted.

"Don't you dare tell me what to do Puckerman!" Finn attempted to adjust his footing on the railing.

But his estimate was off by just a few centimeters.

Suddenly his arms were flailing.

His body began to tilt backwards.

Screams sounded within the crowd along with the artificial snaps of smartphones.

And Rachel, with blood pounding in her ears and a sudden burst of adrenaline, launched herself towards the falling boy.

***

"And then you saved his life?" A large microphone suddenly filled her line of vision in the large conference room.

"Y-yes. I suppose I did. Even though I think I nearly asphyxiated him in the process." Rachel answered the reporter as numerous flashes of cameras temporarily blinded her vision. She remembered lunging for the boy and grabbing the front of his school-issued sweatshirt with all her might. The boy had nearly taken her over the railing along with him if it hadn't of been for the two or three generous students that had gripped her around the waist to hold her steady.

"Sources tell us that you have been offered an honorary scholarship to Dalton Academy from the conglomerate of Fabray Enterprises for your bravery. Can you confirm?" Another reporter thrusted a microphone underneath her chin.

"I-I confirm, I suppose. Though I'm not certain as to why—"

"Did you accept the scholarship Miss Berry?"

At this question, Rachel's shoulders drooped in defeat. "Well, to be honest, There was no way I could refuse." And she really couldn't. Between the excited squeals of her parents and the hardened gaze of Mr. Bellfleur— the Fabray Enterprise representative that had shown up unexpectedly to her home to offer the scholarship—She had no other choice but to accept.

Mind you, she had protested to her fathers the moment Mr. Bellfleur walked out of the door, but after a stern talking to about being ungrateful for a grand opportunity such as this…

"How does it feel to be the first middle-class citizen to be accepted into Dalton's high society ranks?"

She tried not to bristle at the statement pertaining to her class. What did it matter anyway? "Well…even though I rather enjoyed my time at William McKinley High—"

"The local public school?" A reporter interrupted.

Rachel nodded her head. "I'm extremely honored to be accepted into such a prestigious Academy." Her grin for the flashing cameras was entirely false. Starting next week (And only a mere two weeks since the delivery incident), She would be leaving behind the friends she had grown up with, her teachers, the glee club—

"Were you aware that the boy you had saved is the son of the world famous car trader and collector, Burt Hummel?"

"No, I didn't—"

"—and that as an act of gratitude after hearing about your scholarship, Mr. Hummel had purchased the school's notoriously expensive uniform and textbooks on your behalf for the year?"

Rachel's eyes widened in shock. She didn't know that.

"I actually didn't—"

"That will be all the questions for Miss Berry today. Thank you for your time." Mr. Bellfleur interrupted as he gently ushered Rachel away from the podium towards her beaming fathers.

"Your time at Dalton begins Monday at 8am." The representative talked lowly as they neared the exit of the stage. "You're uniform has already been delivered to your home." He paused briefly at the top of the stairs. "We will have very little contact unless there is a serious problem within Dalton Academy."

Rachel tilted her head. "A serious problem?" Her mind was swimming. Everything was going entirely too fast.

The man hesitated shortly before answering. "Academically, and—among other things. Good luck, Rachel Berry."

Rachel wanted him to elaborate, but Mr. Bellfleur walked away towards the podium before she could say another word.

"Any and all other questions will be directed towards me." He stated firmly to the sea of reporters.

Rachel glanced back towards Mr. Bellfleur, but he only nodded his head in her direction with a curt dismissal. Her fathers instantly latched on to both of her arms and lead her out of the building towards their car.

"Our baby girl's first interview!" Her dad, Leroy, gushed happily. "I didn't expect to see this day until you've at least reached Broadway, my dear."

Hiram, affectionately called daddy by Rachel, winked in his husband's direction. "It's because our little angel is a town hero." He ruffled Rachel's hair affectionately. "When did you become so brave?"

"Daddy!" She whined. "Stop messing up my hair!"

They all laughed and continued to walk in silence.

"Dad?" Rachel interrupted their calm with a low voice. "Daddy?"

Her parents paused to look down questioningly at their Rachel's hesitant tone. She bit her lip under their gaze as she contemplated speaking her thoughts. "I..um…"

They both waited patiently for her to complete her sentence.

"I don't think I can do this." She finally blurted out, shifting her gaze to the floor to ignore what she thought would be her father's disappointed frowns. "Going to Dalton, I mean. I don't think I'd fit in very much…with that crowd."

Leroy hummed contemplatively. "That crowd, hm?"

"Which crowd, honey? The obnoxious crowd, or the obnoxiously wealthy crowd? Perhaps both?" Hiram cut in with a grin.

Rachel let out a small sigh of relief that her parents were taking her doubts in stride, but this was something that she truly wanted to discuss. "Daddy, I'm serious. You saw what those people did to that Finn boy at Dalton! If I hadn't of been there to save him, he would have…he could have—"

"Well, good thing that you were there to save the day, Rachel Berry."

"Daddy…" She whined again. Hiram's playful nature was getting the best of their discussion, so his voice dropped into a fatherly tone.

"Rachel, honey," Hiram started walking his family in a slow stride. "What has having two gay men as your parents taught you in life?"

Rachel tapped her chin in contemplation before answering. "How to throw a punch, dodge and run like hell?"

Leroy and Hiram guffawed at their daughters response. Though it was probably true, it was not quite the answer they were looking for.

"No, no, honey—I mean, well yes— but no." Hiram paused their stride by wrapping an arm around Rachel's shoulder in order to get her to face him.

"What we've taught you was to keep your chin up," He cupped and lifted her chin with his index finger. "Stand strong," He clapped his hands firmly onto her shoulders. "And not to let a single person bring you down, no matter what."

"Have we taught you well?" Leroy questioned. Rachel stared up at her dad and daddy with shining eyes and nodded her head vehemently.

"I'll be okay?" It wasn't too often that Rachel asked for reassurance, but her fathers would gladly give it to her if asked.

"You'll be more than okay." Leroy answered while Hiram spun his daughter back around to continue their walk to the car. "I promise. You'll adjust in no time."

***

Leroy and Hiram Berry were filthy liars and should be burned at the stake, Rachel ranted internally. Though she was only half joking (but only because getting burned at the stake did seem pretty harsh), she truly could not see herself adjusting to this life anytime soon.

Even though she had already seen the school when she made that fateful delivery, it was completely different to see it through a student's eyes. She had arrived extremely early just so she could get herself acquainted with the campus.

The first (and only) part of her self-issued tour was the cafeteria—which was not really a cafeteria, but something akin to a grand café. The entire room was made out of wooden paneling and the hardwood floors shined brightly beneath her feet. She wandered around the sparsely populated eating area, taking note of the sleek metal tables, and the hexagonal buffet in the center of the room. She also took in with wide eyes the large drinking fountain (currently filled with orange juice) and crystal glasses lined up on a large table along the wall.

"This can't be real…"

Rachel spotted a staircase in the far corner of the room, and when she went to examine it, a sign chained across the entry way prevented her from going any further. 'F3 Lounge', it read in bold black letters. Rachel couldn't help but scoff. She's been here for less than half an hour and she was already tired of anything that had to do with the notorious group. She knew next to nothing about them, nor did she ever want to.

"Ah! If it isn't the tacky commoner that saved my brother's life." Rachel whirled around at the familiar voice that echoed across the cafeteria. "I was wondering when you would get here."  
The boy approached Rachel with an arrogant flair. He had a boyish face, with hair parted perfectly to its left. He was wearing the very uniform that she had seen him in those few weeks ago.

"And I have to say that the uniform is a massive improvement to your overall look, don't you agree? My mother designed them herself, after all." He brushed imaginary lint from his own uniform blazer.

Rachel glanced down at her own uniform. Even though she rather liked her beige and navy plaid skirt and the white piped gray cardigan that fit snuggly beneath the signature Dalton blazer, she found no reason to believe that her normal clothes were terrible looking. Knee highs were something that she wore all the time anyway.

The boy gave her appraising look. "Massive improvement indeed."

She fiddled with the red and navy striped tie partially hidden beneath her cardigan. "Can I help you with something, or…"  
"Kurt," the boy proffered his hand for her to shake. "Kurt Hummel. And it so happens that I'm indebted to you for saving my brother's life."

Rachel blinked slowly as she shook his hand. "Indebted? I-I really don't think that's necessary—"  
"This is going to be the most interesting year yet!" Kurt practically squealed as he wrapped her arm within his own. "You're the first commoner to ever grace these halls."

Rachel frowned at the term he had used twice now. "Why do you keep calling me a—"

Kurt jerked her forward and began to walk at a hurried pace. "You've been the talk of the school since it was announced you'd be attending!" he continued as if he hadn't heard her. "Everyone is incredibly curious about the Rachel Berry."

Rachel stumbled over her feet at the news. "But why—"

"Will you stop walking so slowly!" Kurt shushed quietly while leading her down one of Dalton's many winding staircases. "They're almost here!"

"Who's almost here?" Rachel mumbled absently while taking in her surroundings.

"F3, of course!"

This caused Rachel to immediately stop in her tracks and yank her arm of Kurt's grip. "F3?" She hissed. "The same group of people that put a hit out on your brother and nearly got him killed? That F3?"

Kurt had the decency to look a bit ashamed. "Well when you put it that way…they don't seem too great."

"Of course not!" Rachel shrieked. "They sound awfu-mmf!"

Kurt quickly clamped his hand on Rachel's mouth and looked around in alarm. When his gaze landed on her own he slowly released his hold. "Don't let anyone hear you say that out loud, do you understand?"

Rachel nodded, her eyes wide and slightly fearful. Kurt took note of her state and heaved out a sympathetic sigh. "You really don't know who the Flower 3 are, do you?"

The girl could only shake her head, still stunned by Kurt's panicked reaction. "Don't you watch television? Pick up a magazine even?"

Rachel shook her head in the negative. "Usually, if it doesn't have anything to do with music or Broadway, I-I don't…"

Kurt gently encircled his arm around hers once more and continued their path to the entrance hall. "The Flower 3, or F3 for short, are the three most wealthy and influential people in the school. As for their parents? Just multiply that influence and wealth by one hundred." Rachel's eyes widened in surprise as Kurt continued. "They're practically royalty here."

"And just how does that give them the right to be bullies?"

Kurt chuckled and motioned around the building with his free hand. "They pretty much own the school."

Rachel's jaw dropped. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"How do you think you got that scholarship from Fabray Enterprises? Their parents give generous donations to Dalton annually to make sure their children are happy. Happy kids, means happy heirs to their ridiculously large organizations."

"How unfair."

Kurt shrugged his shoulders. "It's the way things work here. They have a huge fan base in the students of this school."

They finally reached the bottom of the stairs when the first squeal erupted from the small crowd gathered in the entrance hall.

"Ah! Here they come." Kurt pointed to the now-open front doors and the first member of F3 decided to grace their presence.

And she was the most beautiful girl Rachel had ever seen outside of a magazine. The girl had tan skin, similar to her own, with long flowing black hair that curled over the top of her shoulders. She was wearing a short, white tube dress, with a blue fur trimmed vest (Rachel shuddered at this. What did that poor animal ever do to her?) and the most beautiful pure white pumps she had ever seen. The crowd hooted and wolf whistled at her entrance. And the F3 member's perfectly made up face broke into a smirk.  
"She is so fierce!" Kurt mumbled excitedly, then turned to the gaping girl beside him. "That is Santana Lopez. Heiress of the Lopez Construction Company." He provided. "Our very own—" He lowered his voice to a whisper. "Mafia Queen, if you will."  
"M-Mafia Queen?" Rachel sputtered.

Kurt nodded. "But you didn't hear it from me." His voice dropped to a whisper. "Her dad is said to be one of the most connected and influential mob leaders in these parts. She's absolutely filthy rich."

Another gasp from the crowd indicated that another member of F3 had walked through the doors. This time it was a tall, lithe blonde that more likely pirouetted through the doors than actually walked. Her long legs were adorned with dark gray dress shorts and a matching blazer adorned her torso. Her striking blue eyes where even more pronounced by the aqua blue under shirt peeking just over the top of her shorts with the same colored sneakers to match.  
Like Santana before her, she was absolutely stunning.

"Do all of them have to look like models?" Rachel couldn't help but complain.

Kurt chuckled in response. "They all have modeled at one point or another."

Rachel groaned loudly. Of course they have. "And who is she, exactly?" Rachel motioned towards the girl who had just bounced over to Santana and offered a suffocated hug. Santana's smile told her that she didn't mind one bit.

"She's Brittany S. Pierce; A dancing prodigy! I have to say that she's a bit odd, but what genius isn't?"

Rachel nodded. The girl most certainly seemed that way.

"Brittany has danced and choreographed for some of the world's best known dance companies, and continues to make royalties from those past contracts."

"At least she has worked hard to make a name for herself." Rachel hummed her approval, but Kurt snorted at the observation.

"Her parents are eccentric treasure hunters. Not to mention that they own and curate over 20 museums around the world." Rachel stared at Kurt in shock. "Believe me when I say that Brittany's been well off long before she's made a name for herself."

She watched as Brittany giggled and bent over to whisper something into Santana's ear until an eerie hush fell over the entrance hall.

Rachel looked around in confusion. "What—"

Kurt shushed the girl with a pointed glare.

"But—" The loud click-clack of heels interrupted her train of thought.

Rachel peered into the entry way with a sense of anticipation that she didn't understand. What kind of person could bring this type of reaction out of people?

But then her breath hitched, and then she suddenly understood why.

The last member of F3 stood in the entry way, with a sense of unbridled confidence and entitlement that sucked all of the air out of Rachel's lungs.

The girl was—

She was—

She was the most stunning girl that she had ever seen.

Her long shimmering blonde hair tumbled in waves over her shoulders. Her face was—

There was not enough adjectives in the world to describe her face. Sharp cheekbones, plump red lips, and the most beautiful hazel eyes she had ever seen…

Rachel's gaze began at the girl's black, high heeled boots, pulled over dark navy jeans. She then made her way up to the girl's solid white and black-buttoned leather jacket. And just underneath her blond curls, a beautifully decorated black and gray scarf tucked neatly around her neck.

Her entire outfit probably cost more that Rachel's home.

"Gorgeous. Am I right?" Kurt whispered into Rachel's ear. And she agreed wholeheartedly. "That, my dear, is the leader of F3—"

"Quinn Fabray." Rachel finished Kurt's sentence in awe. She sensed Kurt's surprise at her knowing this information. "What?" She raised her eyebrows. "I don't live under a rock, you know."

Rachel had seen her on countless magazine covers, but they didn't even come close to capturing the beauty of the real thing. She knew that Quinn Fabray's infamous mother was the head of Fabray Enterprises; a massive conglomerate with several business around the world. She knew that the girl had become the sole heir to Fabray Enterprises when her older sister married an A-list Hollywood actor. She knew that the girl was quite literally born with a silver and diamond encrusted spoon in her mouth.

…And now she knew that Quinn Fabray was a spoiled bully, and Rachel felt disgusted that Quinn would abuse her power in such a way.

That she would cause a boy to nearly take his own life. Was Quinn Fabray really the leader of this awful group?

Rachel stuck her hands in the pockets of her cardigan and watched with disdain as Quinn parted the crowd with barely a wave of her hand. She scoffed.

"Why does everyone treat her like she's a goddess?" She asked. But when she got no response, she turned to see Kurt clear across the room, motioning frantically in her direction. "Kurt? How did he—"

She turned to face the doorway again, only to come face to face with Quinn Fabray's leather-clad chest.

Rachel quickly backed up a few steps, more out of surprise than fear. Quinn was staring down at her with hard hazel eyes and a neutral face.

"Who are you." Quinn's voice was melodic, but held an edge to it that would have the bravest people fall to their knees. It should have been a question, but Quinn's tone of voice had turned it into a statement.

Rachel stared right back, unflinching. "I'm a transfer student." She tilted her chin in defiance. "Who are you?"

The crowd watching the scene unfold gasped almost inaudibly. Had no one ever stood up to these people?

"You're in my way." Quinn stated in monotone. "Move."

Even though she was kind of blocking the stairway, Rachel didn't budge. She continued to stare up at the heir defiantly and couldn't help the gulp when she saw Quinn's perfect eyebrows narrow a fraction.

Her daddy always said that her stubbornness would get her into trouble.

"You have until the count of three."

Rachel fisted her hands in her pocket. How dare she? She wasn't some peon that Quinn could command at will.

"One."

Rachel took a steadying breath. Consequences be damned, now she absolutely refused to move.

"Two." Though Quinn's voice sounded uninterested, the hidden edge increased ten-fold. Santana and Brittany giggled behind her.

Rachel physically braced herself.

"Three."


	2. Tyrant

"I don't care how many times you explain it, Q. Our group name is ridiculous." Santana Lopez, the Mafia Queen—erm—the Lopez Construction Company heiress, collapsed onto the plush sofa in F3's personal lounge.

"It sounds so stupid, The Flower Three." She tried to mock Quinn's timbre voice. "You couldn't come up with something more badass? How about the Fabulous Three, The Unholy Trinity, or The Fiery, Smoking-Hot Trio. That sounds more accurate."

"We are hot." Brittany Pierce agreed as she also made her way to the couch. "But you know how Quinn loves her matadors."

Santana shot a small smile to her best friend. "You mean metaphors."

"We're flowers among weeds, Santana." Quinn voiced quietly as she sat with her legs crossed on the couch opposite of the two other girls. "I'm tired of repeating myself."

"I get it and all, but it's still lame." Santana murmured the last part under her breath.

Quinn hummed in disagreement before slowly bouncing the leg balanced over her knee. Santana, of course, recognized the tell-tale sign.

"Something making you anxious?"

The girl in question seemed to contemplate answering the question, then shook her head as if to dismiss the thought. Santana raised her eyebrow as Quinn began to fiddle with her scarf. She knew that Quinn didn't often say what was going on in the calculating mind of hers, but with the right emphasis…

"Quinn…"

Quinn's eyes snapped to the ceiling. "Who was that girl? From earlier, by the entrance stairs, I mean." Quinn broke faster than Santana had expected, but the pride that she gained from knowing her best friend so well, quickly morphed into surprise.

"You're kidding me right?" She turned towards Brittany. "This is a joke. Does she really not know?"

"Know what?" Quinn questioned, slightly put out that she wasn't in the loop.

"You know that she tries to stay away from gossip news." Brittany responded, still ignoring Quinn.

"It's not just gossip news."

Santana turned to face Quinn's narrowed gaze. "That girl has been all over the news for weeks! She's the first middle-class citizen to get into Dalton."

Quinn's rigid posture straightened even further. "She's a commoner?" She hummed, then murmured under her breath, "I've never met one before. No wonder she lacks in etiquette."

"Yea she's—wait. No really, how do you not know who Rachel Berry is? Fabray Enterprises was the one that gave her the scholarship!"

Quinn's gaze snapped to Santana's. "Seriously?"

Brittany answered for Santana. "Yep! But only because a couple hundred commoners decided to protest against the company. It leaked out into the media and FE didn't have a choice but to reward her for saving that really mean boy—"

"Hudson." Santana growled out. "He could have fallen for all I care."

"San!"

"Seriously, B. No one calls you stupid and gets away with it."

"You're getting off topic." Quinn cut in.

Santana nodded. "Right. So, as usual, the media blows every little thing out of proportion. Everyone was demanding that this girl deserved some type of payment for 'saving' Finnept's life. So to save face, your mom sent out a statement to press that Berry would be attending Dalton on FE's behalf."

Quinn hummed neutrally. "Then I'm definitely not surprised that I didn't know about this. I hardly ever see my mother anyway." She hissed out.

Santana and Brittany glanced at each other in understanding. They knew that Judy Fabray, was a sensitive topic for Quinn, so they decided to shift the focus.

"When was the last time someone has stood up to you like that, Quinn?

Quinn's forehead smoothed over to a neutral expression. "Trivial." Was all she said with a wave of her hand.

"So no Red Card?" Brittany wanted to confirm. For some reason she didn't want to give the school's first commoner a bad impression about their tight-knit group. Contrary to popular belief, she was quite aware that the group was notorious among the students. She bit her lip in anticipation.

"No," Quinn smirked at Santana and Brittany. "Not yet, at least."

***

"…and then she had the nerve to count to three!"

Tina Cohen-Chang watched in amusement as Rachel vented the day's frustration and puttered around the family owned music store that they were currently working.

"And just when I was going to give that girl a piece of my mind, Kurt yanks me out of the way—yanks me—and literally bows from the waist down while apologizing profusely on my behalf." Rachel huffed as she furiously polished a guitar case. "Who does that? I've never seen anything so ridiculous in my life!"

Tina giggled. "Then what did Quinn do?"

Rachel paused in her polishing. "Absolutely nothing. All she did was stare at Kurt and I for a few moments then climbed up the stairs followed by her—her lackeys."

"That doesn't seem too bad."

"That doesn't seem too bad?" Rachel repeated Tina at a much higher volume. "They're tyrants! And that's not even the worst they did today."

Tina leaned against the counter-top with a smile. "Enlighten me."

Rachel slammed the case shut and spun towards her best friend. "Today between classes, for instance. This quiet little freshmen boy built up the courage to deliver Quinn a personal-sized cake he spent his entire culinary class baking a for her. Do you know what that vile Quinn Fabray did?"

Tina shook her head.

"She decides to toss the cake on his face, while telling him evenly that she only eats the sweets from world renown patissiers."

Tina covered her mouth in shock.

"A-And, today at lunch—which, I mean, do you have any idea how much it costs for a meal? Absolutely astounding…not to mention that the F3 have their own lounge on the second floor of the cafeteria…" She shook her head furiously. "I'm getting off track. Today at lunch, there was this girl—she was wearing this beautiful white leather jacket, with these—" Rachel motioned towards her own torso, "These beautiful black buttons! Apparently, there were only two of those made in the entire world! And guess who had the only other one?"

Tina gasped. "No…"

"Quinn Fabray." Rachel confirmed it. "And she didn't like it one bit." Rachel wandered closer to Tina and hopped to sit on the counter-top next to her. "So she grabs someone's pasta and tomato sauce bowl and empties it on the girls chest."

Tina's eyes widened. "You're kidding!"

"And everyone just laughed as the girl stood there in humiliation. It was so awful, I couldn't stand it!"

Tina crossed her arms. "She does sound quite terrible, but please don't tell me that you did something stupid. I know you, Rachel…"

Rachel huffed and looked guiltily to her left. "I didn't!"

Rachel did. Well—she almost did. She remembered that right after the jacket incident happened she stood so quickly that her chair clattered to the floor. She was absolutely furious. She stormed over to where the pair was standing and Quinn looked down at her with steely eyes. Oh how Rachel wanted to verbally tear down the heiress, but instead, she simply and defiantly stared back.

"Do you have something to say." Quinn had asked in her normal monotone, non-questioning way. But the threat was clear. Rachel could only clench her fists at her sides to prevent herself from doing something she would regret later.

"No." Rachel hissed out almost painfully through her teeth.

She remembered an arrogant look crossing Quinn's features, as if she were satisfied with her restraint. "I didn't think so."

"Rachel…" Tina trailed off, interrupting Rachel's thoughts. "The last thing I want for you is to end up in a ditch somewhere because you upset the wrong people. You saw what they did to Finn Hudson! Just for now—maybe you should tone down the Berry-ness while you're at Dalton."

Without warning, Rachel hopped down from the counter-top and stomped her foot in anger. "I refuse—refuse—to change myself to appease those—those rich, spoiled, bullies!"

Tina help up her hands in surrender. "I understand, just—" She stepped a bit closer to a still fuming Rachel. "Don't do anything to get yourself into trouble, okay?"

Rachel shrugged her shoulders half-heartedly. "I just really, really miss McKinley, Tina."

Tina patted her best friend's shoulder. "It's only been a day!" Rachel giggled at this fact. It had felt so much longer than that. "You just need to time to adjust. And for the record, Rachel; McKinley misses you too."

Rachel desperately needed music back in her school life.

***

At McKinley High she had been the captain of their glee club, and when often stressed out about academics, or just life in general, she could sing to her heart's content in the school's auditorium or choir room. She most certainly couldn't do it at home, as her neighbors have already filed numerous noise complaints against her family. They were already cutting it pretty close financially, and she would hate for her fathers to be fined on her behalf.

Truthfully, Rachel hadn't used her singing voice in days, and that just wouldn't do. She couldn't get to Broadway by being lackadaisical with her vocal training. So she found herself on campus early once more, searching everywhere she could for a place to vent her frustrations. Rachel scoured multiple staircases and peeked into numerous classrooms for any semblance of a singing facility, but her search was of no avail.

Rachel, now sitting petulantly on a bench of Dalton's courtyard, had lost hope. She thought that with all the money that Dalton was known for, they'd at least have a choir room for musically gifted students such as herself.

The sound of a strumming guitar filtered into her thoughts, and as she glanced around, she noticed the sound coming from a small clearing near the edge of the campus. Rachel instantly stood from her seat and began to follow the melody because it was—well—music. Whoever was playing should at least know where the music room was, right?

As she got closer and closer, a blond boy came into her view as she began to recognize the tune being played. She crossed her arms, an almost unconscious motion to prevent herself from joining in song on his private moment. His eyes were closed in concentration; his fingers, deftly plucking at the strings of his instrument. He was most certainly musically experienced and immediately had Rachel intrigued. He began to hum the lyrics of the song.

And Rachel suddenly felt like a voyeur. But just as she took a step backwards, her foot landed on a fallen tree branch with an obnoxiously loud crack. The strumming halted immediately, and the boy's green eyes were suddenly on hers.

Her first instinct was to apologize. "I'm sorry! I was just—"

But then she paused, because she honestly didn't do anything that warranted an apology. She straightened her shoulders and met his steady gaze. "You play the guitar wonderfully."

He glanced down with what Rachel could only define as a shy half-smile. He didn't respond.

After a few moments of awkward silence (Rachel, shuffling her feet awkwardly and the boy, fiddling with the tuners on his guitar), Rachel finally spoke up. "You wouldn't happen to know where the music room would be, would you?"

He motioned towards the school's building. "It's in a separate building." The boy's voice startled Rachel more than she cared to admit. Not that his voice was unpleasant; quite the opposite actually. She just didn't expect him to answer at all.

"Separate—where?" She was still rather unfamiliar with the school.

"Next to the greenhouse."

Rachel squinted her eyes, mentally tracing the pathway to where the music building was supposed to be on campus. "I…I think I know where that is. Thank you. For your help, I mean."

The boy only nodded his head and then began to absently strum his guitar. Taking that as her queue to leave, Rachel spun on her heels to seek out what was going to be her new solace.

"Sam Evans." Rachel spun back around to face the boy that had just spoken. He was still looking down at his guitar. "In case you were curious."

She tilted her head inquisitively before responding. "Rachel Berry." His twinkling gaze met hers again. "In case you were curious." She finished with a grin

He produced his now signature half-smile as she made her back towards the main building.

And if Rachel had turned around, she would have noticed that Sam's gaze didn't leave her form until she disappeared from his sight.

***

Kurt and Rachel were becoming closer.

Yes, their social classes sometimes made seeing eye to eye a bit difficult, but their common interest in Broadway seemed to brush away any hard feelings.

"So you know, I've actually met Patti LuPone." Kurt stated in an off-hand manner as he balanced along the short, brick, ledge surrounding a rose garden in Dalton's court yard. Rachel squealed in delight at the news. Kurt simply beamed.

It had been an uneventful few days at Dalton Academy. Other than the odd encounter with Sam Evans, a few witnessed acts of belittlement from F3, and the highly expected snobbish behavior from other students of the school, she had been adjusting decently. Especially with her discovery of the Dalton choir room. Perhaps Tina was right, she probably just needed a few days to get used to the environment.

"Are you serious? Did your heart melt? I would have passed out by her very presence." Rachel gushed.

Kurt took a generous bite from the sorbet cone that he and Rachel had bought off campus during their lunch hour. "My mother designed her dress for the Tony's a few years back." He bounced down to ground level. "Literally, the best day of my life."

Rachel clutched her chest dramatically. "It would make anyone's day, Kurt. But I'm afraid my life wouldn't be complete if I did not one day meet the great and magnificent—"

"Barbra Streisand!" The two friends shouted in unison. They both giggled in tandem and reverently knocked their two cones together in a silent toast.

"To the greatest woman alive."

The transfer student hummed in agreement and happily licked away at her frozen treat as she began to hum the opening notes to Barbra's rendition of "Don't Rain On My Parade." Kurt followed with the first line, then Rachel with the second, and continued to alternate until the both of them were singing at the top of their lungs while twirling around in the courtyard.

Rachel had hit the crescendo when she realized that Kurt was no longer singing along. Instead—Rachel flipped around in order to see what the matter was—Kurt was frozen in place, staring up in horror at none other than Quinn Fabray's scowling face.

Quinn Fabray.

Oh shit.

Brittany and Santana stood behind her, smirking in amusement. Well, Santana was smirking at least. Brittany was just staring pointedly at some point in the horizon.

Rachel took in a breath and was by his side in an instant. She glanced down only to see what was left of his ice cream, splattered across one of Quinn's shiny boots. Rachel's eyes widened.

"I-I'll buy you a new pair! I swear! I-I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—" Kurt stuttered.

"Are you saying that you're better off than me?" Quinn gritted out. "That I can't afford to replace my own shoes?" Surprise, surprise, Quinn had actually managed to frame those sentences as questions. But Rachel's amusement quickly faded when she realized that it was only because Quinn was rapidly losing her cool.

Kurt was now trembling so badly that his teeth audibly chattered. "N-no! That's not—I'll do anything—"

"Clean. It. Off." Quinn hissed through her teeth, one syllable at a time.

Kurt instantly jumped to action, desperately patting his pants and blazer pockets for a handkerchief. Rachel only watched on in dull shock at Quinn and Kurt's behavior.

"I don't think you understand, Hummel." Quinn raised a perfect eyebrow and lifted her leg to rest her stained boot on the rose garden ledge. "Lick it clean."

"W-What?" Kurt seemed absolutely appalled.

Quinn looked down at him, smug. "You heard me."

Rachel gasped at the audacity of such a demand and gasped even louder when she noticed Kurt sink down to his knees in order to fulfill the F3 Leader's request. Even the other members of the group looked shocked.

She furiously grabbed the back of Kurt's blazer with her free hand, yanked him to his feet, and placed the boy protectively behind her.

"This needs to stop. Now." Rachel's voice was low, and full of barely restrained anger. "It was an accident. He has already apologized. Why isn't that enough?"

Quinn glanced behind her to speak Santana and Brittany. "Are commoners always this nosy?" She spoke as if Rachel wasn't standing directly in front of her. "Given the size of her snout, I suppose she can't help it."

Santana snorted at the insult. Brittany sported a slightly disapproving frown.

The leader of F3 finally turned back to the now fuming girl in front of her. "Berry, isn't it? Hasn't anyone ever taught you how to mind your own business?"

Rachel, despite the insult, held her head high. "It is my business. Kurt's friendship in invaluable to me, and I will not stand by and watch you humiliate him." She took a daring step closer towards Quinn. "Do you even know what that word means? Friendship?

Quinn cocked her head to the side. The unnerving glint in her eye and the smug smirk that crossed Quinn's features should have sent a clear warning to Rachel, but she refused to back down.

"Friendship, huh?" Quinn tapped her chin. "Since you guys are such good—" she leaned down to be eye level with Rachel, "friends. Take his place."

Rachel blinked. "Excuse me?"

Quinn leaned back and once again placed her booted foot on the brick ledge before giving Rachel a quick once over. "Lick it."

Rachel's mouth was reminiscent to a fish out of water. She has never been asked to do anything so disgraceful in her life."Have you lost your—"

"All will be forgiven if you clean my boot instead."

Rachel was—

She was absolutely—

She had never—

Rachel Barbra Berry was absolutely livid.

Her jaw worked in anger as she glared daggers at this—this person standing in front of her. She couldn't believe the words that were spewing out of her mouth.

"Now." Quinn was becoming impatient.

Rachel glanced down at her hands clenched to her side and noticed that she still (almost broken to pieces in anger) had her sorbet cone. She glanced up to Quinn's haughty looking features then back down to her cone.

She then made her decision.

It all happened in a blur; One moment Quinn had been standing arrogantly in front of her, and the next moment Quinn was on the ground with purple sorbet running in rivulets down her face. She looked absolutely shell-shocked. The two other members of F3 had similar expressions.

Rachel was breathing heavily; the adrenaline running through her veins made her much bolder than normal. So the threw what was left of the sorbet cone at the heiress on the floor for good measure.

"I have no idea what has made you think that you could treat anyone like they were less than human." Her nose flared. Rachel was still so very angry, and she knew that this incident would come back to bite her in the rear, but Rachel was most certainly going to finish what she started. "But I will tell you right now that your ideals are wrong."

Rachel began to back away towards the immobile Kurt when Quinn didn't say a word. She only continued to stare up at her in astonishment.

"I will never give in to a tyrant like you." And with that, Rachel spun on her heels and stormed away with a silent Kurt in tow, without a backwards glance.

It wasn't until the end of the day, as she sat alone in her tiny blue car, that Rachel had realized exactly what she had done.

She let out a shuddering breath and allowed her head to thump against the steering wheel. Her hands were shaking and her legs suddenly felt like jelly.

Rachel was in so much trouble.

Somehow, Rachel Berry just knew it was going to be a bad day.

She had woken up in the morning with a terrible feeling in her stomach. It had rolled, rumbled, and growled in protest, begging her to skip what was sure to be an eye-opening experience at Dalton Academy. But she ignored it.

A poor decision on her part.

When she walked into school that day, the halls were eerily silent. Not even Kurt—usually the first and only person to greet her in the morning—was anywhere near in sight.

As per usual, Rachel approached her locker to retrieve school books for the day, but she felt a sense of trepidation the moment her fingers clutched onto the metal latch. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes in attempt to even out her breathing. She might as well get this over with.

With her eyes still closed, she opened the metal door with creak. She heard the flutter of a piece of paper fall directly in front of her feet.

She peaked one eye open.

Followed closely by a second. And what she saw made her heart sink.

There, on the floor, was a crimson 4X4 card with large black lettering on its face.

Those three despicable girls had literally painted a target right on her forehead; to be bullied and tortured by the students of Dalton until she left the school by her own 'free will' or carried out in a stretcher.

She had expected it—she really did—but Rachel still picked up the card in morbid fascination. She had just realized her fate.

Rachel Berry had been Red Carded by the F3.

Oh shit.


	3. Red Card

Rachel had been physically preparing herself for attacks all morning.

Her shoulders tensed at every sound, though she continued to hold her chin up defiantly, and dared any of the leering students to do their worst. She was prepared for anything.

She was Rachel Berry, damn it. The winner for the past three years as the "Most Stubborn" ("The Most Driven", as Rachel liked to paraphrase) superlative at McKinley High. But what she didn't count on was just how organized the Dalton Academy student body was when it came to intimidating a Red Card victim. They appeared and disappeared in waves, scowling within proximity just enough to alarm her, but keeping their distance just enough to keep her in a false comfort zone.

It was strategically genius, she had to admit. And she just so happened to appreciate the dramatic effect of it all. But it caused her spine to constantly stiffen in anxiety; the memory of what they had done to Finn Hudson flashed through her mind.

It was not a good feeling.

The first attack was not really an attack at all, but an idiotic prank.

Rachel had walked into her first period with her backpack slung over her shoulder, and the room fell silent. Students sneered and hissed in her direction. Even the instructor avoided eye contact as he scuffed his shoes on the carpeted floor. It seemed as though F3 owned the teachers in the school as well. Pathetic.

She walked slowly towards her desk, eyeing the students surrounding her with minimal concern. But when she finally arrived she realized that—

That her desk wasn't there. Vanished.

"Where is my desk?" Rachel said more to herself than anyone else, but her only response was the discrete snickers of her classmates.

"Mr. Schuester?" Rachel questioned hopefully. But of course, the instructor merely shook his head and cleared his throat awkwardly. She frowned at this.

"Maybe you should go check outside." Sugar Motta, the heiress to a Las Vegas luxury hotel chain—she remembered the girl rattling off her name and status on the first day of classes—sneered haughtily.

"In the dirt." Sugar's equally as wealthy minion, Harmony Hall, finished. "A commoner like you should be used to that, right?"

Rachel had to restrain herself from growling in frustration at the giggles that erupted from within the classroom. She clenched her fists at her side. Was that the best they had?

***

The next afternoon, they had vandalized Rachel's tiny blue car.

Expletives that she'd rather not repeat were written on every available surface. Rachel scoffed at this. This was nothing a simple car wash could not fix. And frankly, their lack of creativity was a bit disappointing.

She shook her head and hopped into her car. She would have to get this cleaned before her fathers noticed anything out of the ordinary.

***

The next morning the students had locked Rachel out of the school.

She rattled the large wooden doors uselessly yelling for anyone to please let her in, but as she stepped back to look up at the large glass windows of the first and second stories of the building, she noticed the crowds of students pointing and laughing in her direction.

She narrowed her eyes. Yet another intimidation tactic.

She wandered around the campus for about a half an hour until she discovered that the garden house had an open window—which was actually perfect. She could access the school's main building from there. Rachel first threw her backpack through the window, and then stood on the tips of her toes and stretched her arms as far as they could go to shove aside the sliding pane in order for her to get a better fit through. But the only problem was that the window ledge was almost 6 feet from the floor—nearly a foot taller than the girl herself. She took a couple of steps backs and glared determinedly at the window. She would need to make a running leap.

She ran as fast as she could, leaping towards the wall, and using her toes to propel herself off of the wall for the few more inches needed to cling onto the ledge with her forearms. Rachel let out a triumphant cry, but the brief lapse in concentration caused her arm to slip slightly. She gained her bearings fairly quickly though.

With all the strength Rachel could muster, she slowly lifted herself to eye level—

Chin level—

Chest level—

Then finally, waist level with the window. Sweat had already began to bead on her brow from exertion. She carefully began to lift her leg into the window until the sound of a door slamming open startled her. She pitched forward at the noise, lost her balance, then tumbled forward through the window. Rachel braced herself to land on the unforgiving concrete floor of the garden house, but something soft had broken her fall. She clutched her chest in relief.

But that relief did not last long.

The loud clicks of cameras and uninhibited laughter brought her attention to the now open door of the garden house. She narrowed her eyes. Of course.

She glanced down at her hands in shame but she noticed that they were covered in dirt. Soft, moist dirt. She stood to get a good look at the rather large pile of it that she had been sprawled across. She brushed off her skirt with a huff. That's what must have broken her fall. She glared at the crowd for a moment.

And then smell hit her. A sharp, stinging, rancid smell that caused her eyes to water at the proximity of it.

Manure.

Rachel nearly gagged at the fact that she had been laying in the matter mere moments before. The sounds and flashes of camera's increased. So did the laughter.

Rachel also did not have a change of clothes. She palmed her forehead at the thought of it. She had left the sweat suit alternative to her uniform at home, since she did not have her PE block today.

Her eyes squinted when she realized that she still had manure on her hand. The same hand that she had just touched her face with.

"I told you guys she would love rolling in the dirt." Sugar Motta's nasally voice stood stark against the backdrop of giggles. "We should just have class in here. It'll make her feel more at home."

This time Rachel actually did gag.

For the remainder of the day—with the smelly compost smudged on her uniform, and slightly dusted on her face—Rachel Berry held her head high and attended the rest of her classes, despite the mocking laughter.

She spotted Kurt's sulking form in the shadows of the hallway. Of course, he was not participating in the hazing, but at the same time, he was doing nothing to stop it. Rachel let him be.

Plus, if anything was a good indicator of the massive guilt that he felt, it was the brand-spanking-new uniform (manure-free, thankfully) with perfect measurements that arrived at her home later that evening.

She ignored her fathers curious glances at the grin that broke across her features.

***

The student body's final attack for the week was admittedly—

Well, it was downright humiliating, but only because Rachel was beginning to lose her resolve. Her defenses were slowly beginning to fracture, but she couldn't let them see that.

She had been sitting in the courtyard eating a packed lunch to avoid the malicious (and in Kurt's case, brooding) stares inside the cafeteria when she felt a slight impact and a loud crack at the side of head.

It didn't quite hurt per say, but it didn't make the sound any less startling. When she felt a warm gooey substance roll down her face, her hand instantly shot up to investigate.

She eyed her finger with disdain. Yellow? Was that an—

She stood up instantly, dropping her lunch to the floor, when she felt another impact on her hip.

Then her right leg.

Then her left arm.

Rachel whirled around in panic, and suddenly, she was surrounded by a majority of the student body, Sugar and Harmony sneering at its center. They both held very large cups of—something—in one hand, and eggs in the other.

Eggs.

She looked at the surrounding students. Dozens of them. A few students were holding smartphones pointed in her direction.

After a silent standoff, without a single word, Sugar threw the first egg. As expected, the students participating in the hazing followed. And all Rachel could do was cover her face until the assault ended.

The sound of eggs cracking against her body melded with her cackling classmates. Why they took pleasure in this, she would probably never know. But she would take it. Her will was so much stronger than theirs. They would grow tired of it eventually.

She hoped.

When the egging stopped, she lowered her hands to sneak a peek at her surroundings; a rather large mistake on her part. She was met with an icy slap of a slushie (so that's what was in the cup) being thrown in face. Her breath hitched from a mix of coldness and shock of the attack. She ended up sinking to her knees.

Because—God, that actually really hurt.

She wiped the gunk away from her eyes as much she could only to see the blurry approaching form of Sugar Motta. The hotel heiress knelt down to eye level with Rachel, the hand holding the slushie cup held high above her head. "That was from F3." Her high pitched voice echoed through the courtyard.

"And this—" Sugar began to slowly pour the icy substance over the top of Rachel's head. "Is from Quinn Fabray."

Rachel nearly snarled at the name. She really hated Quinn Fabray. She hated her with all her being.

"If I were you, I'd be begging on my knees for her forgiveness right now."

***

Quinn Fabray was incessantly pacing the floor of F3's private lounge. Santana and Brittany looked on with vague curiosity. Their friend's behavior was beginning to concern them.

"How long has it been?" Quinn paused in front of the sofa where her friend's were seated. She began to chew thoughtfully on her thumbnail.

Santana shrugged her shoulders. "Uh, a few days, maybe?"

"Almost a week." Brittany offered.

Quinn concentrated her gaze on the stairway that wound down to the bottom floor of the cafeteria. "Then, where the hell is she."

Brittany and Santana glanced at each other in worry before Quinn continued her pacing. "She should have been at my feet pleading for mercy by now."

Quinn glanced back at the paused recording of Rachel's egging on the lounge's large flat screen television. "No one has ever lasted this long." She murmured under her breath.

"Look Q, I—" Santana paused when Quinn's sharp gaze cut in her direction. "Quinn," She said more steadily. "This whole Red Card thing is entertaining and all, but—"

"Can we stop it now?" Brittany surprisingly cut in.

Quinn growled in frustration. "Not. Until. She apologizes."

The other members of F3 flinched at her tone. It wasn't often when Quinn Fabray lost her temper, but when she did, it was best to run in the opposite direction. Fast.

"Q, you're obsessing over—"

"I'm not obsessing over anything!" Quinn spun in Santana's direction with a roar.

Anyone else would have been trembling in fear, but Santana merely raised an eyebrow at Quinn's outburst. Dalton was starting to get a little boring, after all, and it was bound to be quite an interesting year. "Let it go, Q. All she did was throw a little ice cream on you."

Quinn clenched her fists and narrowed her eyes at the memory. No one had ever violated her such a way. If she weren't in her right mind—though Santana would claim that Quinn truly wasn't— she would have had Puck drag the commoner in here and force her to her knees. But pride held her back from doing such a thing. The girl would come on her own and realize that the rudeness she had exhibited was completely unacceptable.

Quinn glared at the paused frame on the television one last time before whipping out her cellular phone.

She would show Rachel Berry that Quinn wasn't someone that could be stood up to.

She had one last plan.

Quinn had not realized that Brittany was looking at her with a worried frown on her features.

***

Rachel barely made it into the choir room before she broke down into tears. They were both tears of anger, and tears of sadness. Anger because of how mindless the students were. How they so obediently followed instruction without conscious. Sadness, because of how easily she had been ostracized. The only friend that she had made and had some semblance of similar interest, hightailed it the moment Rachel had been targeted. And the only reason why she was in this mess was because she had stood up for him. It was so incredibly disappointing.

The egg (she shuddered at this), and slushie combination had already began to cake against her skin. She felt disgusted. Not to mention that those—those mindless sheep had damaged her brand new uniform to an irreparable state. Again.

She wandered over to the piano in the center of the room, and began to absently play warm up scales.

"How dare they?" She spoke openly to herself in the empty room. "They stomp me to the ground like I'm the dirt beneath their feet! And they call me the commoner, when they all behave like—like simpletons!" She shrieked out the last word.

"The Flower 3—" she mocked to herself as she wiped a mixture of blue-dyed corn syrup, eggs and tears from her eyes. "What a silly name. And that Quinn Fabray!" Unknown to the ranting girl, her fingers began to play the notes at a much higher volume.

"She thinks she is so high and mighty. She tells me to lick her boots and then doesn't expect me to stand up to her? She is absolutely crazy!"

Her hands were now rapidly skimming over the keys. "And then, she expects me to apologize! Never have I—That self-centered, pompous—"

She slammed her hands on top of the keys, causing a jumble of notes to clash together in an unmelodious manner. She was so angry that she could hardly finish her sentences. "For all I care, Quinn Fabray can kiss my middle-class, Jewish—"

"Whoa there." A deep voice suddenly permeated the room. Rachel, severely startled, slammed the piano cover shut and was instantly on her feet. A mop of dirty blonde hair suddenly appeared above the backmost row of chairs in the room. "I come here for a little peace and quiet, and it gets interrupted by all this—screeching." He waved absently in her direction, his face still slightly hidden from view.

Rachel clutched her chest. She had no idea that she wasn't alone. She recognized the voice though. And—

Her anger suddenly dissipated.

…Oh.

Her cheeks tinged a deep shade of pink. Had he heard everything she had just said? Did he hear her sobbing? "Sam—" she breathed out. "Sam Evans."

Sam sat up fully from his previous hiding spot of lying down across multiple chairs and carelessly rolled his shoulders. "You're dripping." Was his only response.

Rachel briefly looked down at the floor to see that—yes she was currently standing in a puddle of the melted, blue beverage, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She raised her chin defensively. "And whose fault is that?"

Sam once again ignored her. "Someone might slip and fall. They could hurt themselves."

"Then I say Karma would be doing me a favor." Rachel crossed her arms.

Sam stood and shook his head with a chuckle. "You've got everyone up in arms you know." He began to make his way towards ground level until he stopped directly in front of her. "You're the toughest target they've ever had."

"Maybe it's that 'commoner' resilience." Rachel added evenly. He really was quite handsome up close, she acknowledged absentmindedly

Sam gave her a rather serious look. "You were—" he hesitated. "You were crying."

Rachel's hand instantly shot up to her face. "I—"

Sam sighed, then reached for his breast pocket . He stared at her for a moment. "Don't let the F3 break you, Rachel Berry." He pulled out a solid navy blue handkerchief and gently began to wipe Rachel's face. "It would be a shame."

She initially flinched, but when she realized he wasn't going to harm her, she let him continue his ministrations. His touch was surprisingly tender. "Promise me."

Rachel could only nod, stunned at his gesture. Sam was the first person that had treated her kindly in days. He took her hand and wrapped it around the handkerchief within his grip.

"Keep it." He said with his signature half-smile the moment Rachel opened her mouth to protest.

"But—"

Sam turned from her and began to walk towards the door. "Trust me when I say, you need it a lot more than I do." He said without a backward glance.

Rachel self-consciously glanced down at her own frame. She really did.

"Sam!" Rachel's voice caused him to pause in the doorway, but he didn't bother to turn back around. She took this as a sign to continue.

"Thank you." She voiced bashfully. "For the—" She waved the handkerchief in the air in reference but then realized that he was still facing away from her. She lowered her hand, embarrassed.

Sam stood by the door for a moment more, then disappeared into the corridor with a nod of his head.

Rachel stared at the now closed door with muted shock. That just happened…

Right?


	4. Final Blow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild violence warning.

It had been six days since the commoner, Rachel Berry, was given a Red Card, and Brittany S. Pierce—choreographer, heiress, and member of the ever exclusive, F3—was worried.

Extremely so.

Her legs continuously bounced to an erratic beat.

Her teeth gnawed unforgivably on lower lip.

Her hands wrung systematically at every tick of the clock.

Brittany paused her nervous habits as her eyes snapped towards the shiny timepiece on her wrist. She then shifted her vision towards her cell phone. The only thing she saw on its smooth black surface was her own worried reflection. No missed calls or texts. No news was good news, right?

She sighed and began to bounce her leg once again until she felt a warm hand move softly over her knee, successfully stilling her movements. Brittany glanced down as the hand gave her knee a gentle squeeze.

"Talk to me." Santana's voice was soft, unlike the usual bite when she was talking to one of her peers or…subordinates. Brittany knew Santana only spoke to a very select few so filled with care, and couldn't help the swelling of warmth within her chest at the sound of Santana's concern.

"It's um..." Brittany began to play with Santana's fingers while avoiding her gaze.

Santana hooked the index finger of her free hand under Brittany's chin. "Look at me Britt. I'm listening." Her voice was still soft. "What's the matter?"

Brittany licked her lips. "It's just—" Her eyes darted around the room as Santana nodded her head encouragingly. "The commoner girl, Rachel—"

She watched as Santana shook her head and sighed. They've had this conversation many times before. "I told you, they're just a few silly pranks. Don't interfere."

Brittany huffed. Santana crossed her arms in response.

"I mean it. It's Quinn dealing out the punishment this time. As it was during my turn with Hudson, and as it was yours with that Jenny girl." Brittany rolled her eyes at the mention of her very own past targeted student, Jenny Sullivan. She most certainly deserved the Red Card for what it was worth, but even Brittany had to admit that Quinn's punishments were a bit harsh in comparison. None of the past students could handle it for more than just a few days. Rachel Berry, however...

"But it's already been six days—"

"We can't take it easy on her just because she's a commoner—"

"No one has ever lasted—"

"What would people think if we let her off easy? They'd think we were going soft—"

"Santana—"

"Just let Q have her fun. She'll get bored with it eventually—"

"Santana!" Brittany hissed her name with impatience. Santana stopped talking immediately and blinked at Brittany's unfamiliar tone of voice. "You said you would listen but you're not listening to me."

Santana could only nod in response.

"San," Brittany lowered her voice to a whisper. "I think she broke Quinn." She pointed her chin as inconspicuously as possible to the corner of the room.

Santana furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, not quite sure what her eccentric friend was talking about. Brittany grunted in frustration and jerked her chin more forcibly in the same direction.

Santana finally got the hint and shifted her vision to the far corner of the room. Quinn stood—as stoic as ever, with both arms folded neatly over her chest—facing the window. She seemed to be deep in thought, though every few moments she would shake her head of shiny blonde hair with a chuckle and murmur something indecipherable under her breath.

Brittany did have point. Ever since that Rachel Berry girl made her presence known to the F3, Quinn's behavior had been strange, to say the least. And even though she was hardly their first victim…

"Quinn has been obsessed with her, especially because she hasn't apologized yet." Brittany added solemnly. "I don't think Quinn has ever come across anyone that's given her this hard of a time."

Santana watched as Quinn checked her watch, and continued her steady gaze out of the window. Another grin crossed Quinn's features.

"I think she's planning something." Brittany continued. Santana's gaze snapped back immediately to her own. "And I think that things are going to get out of her control. Fast."

Santana took a deep breath and looked back at the now chuckling Quinn. She couldn't help but to feel that Brittany might actually be right.

***

Day six of Rachel's Red Card status had been relatively uneventful. Of course, it didn't come without a few scathing glares from her classmates (and the kicked-puppy-dog looks from one Kurt Hummel, but she still blatantly ignored him). She did note, however, that another brand new uniform arrived on her doorstep over the weekend, though Rachel was a lot less enthusiastic about its arrival this time around.

It probably meant that there was more torture to come.

But school—Rachel ducked behind one of Dalton's many pillars as a group of students wandered by—seemed to be rather tame. Well, as tame as being a Red Card victim could be.

No missing desks.

No smelly manure.

No slushies.

No eggs...

She shuddered at the phantom feeling of the gooey substance running beneath the collar of her uniform. It was something that she most certainly did not want repeated.

And F3, or better yet, Quinn Fabray...

She hadn't really seen them—her—since she shoved a frozen sorbet into the F3 leader's perfect face. Rachel couldn't help but to smirk at the memory. She wasn't violent by nature, but the look on Quinn's face made her feel…exhilarated.

She wasn't actively looking for them. She was just merely looking out for her own safety by running in the opposite direction every time the infamous triumvirate strutted though the same hallway that she happened to be in. The farther away she was from The Heartless Three, the better.

The sound of the lunch bell caused Rachel to jump in alarm, but she quickly recovered. She needed to make her way to the choir room before the rest of the students began to stampede their way to the cafeteria.

Who needed an elliptical when one could get their exercise by running, dodging and diving away from their tormentors on a daily basis?

She hid behind half open doors, as Noah Puckerman and his flock of football jocks—F3's self-proclaimed personal guard—guffawed loudly down the halls.

She dove into an itchy row of hedges to successfully avoid the F3 and their giggling, starry-eyed harem of students as they swaggered through the courtyard.

And finally, she performed a risky combat roll through the music building doors to dodge the high-pitched laughter of Sugar and Harmony just as they turned the corner.

Though she was relatively safe (since hardly anyone ever seemed to be in this particular area of the school), she still jogged cautiously towards her beloved choir room while dusting off bits of leaves and dirt from her person.

Rachel screeched to a halt the moment the familiar door came into her view and her heart began to pound almost painfully against her chest. Something didn't feel right. She stood for a moment, simply staring at the door. A sudden bout of nervousness had begun to creep up her spine as she glanced around the hallway with narrowed eyes, searching for danger that she could not see but most certainly sense. Her gaze returned to the door in front of her.

With a steadying sigh, her hands slowly pushed open the slightly ajar door. And what she saw—

What she saw made her fists tremble with fury.

The first thing that she noticed about the choir room—her choir room—was the large piles of trash littered all over the floor. And then she noticed the piano. Rachel's heart broke at the sight.

A beautifully polished Steinway was now vandalized with obscenities and crude drawings that she would rather not repeat etched into the wood. Rachel sighed in exasperation. She hadn't even had her first kiss yet, for goodness sake; a lot less than what the drawings dotted all over the furniture so grossly implied. The piano's normally proud stature was now crumpled with two of its legs completely shattered. She slowly walked to the center of the room and ran her fingertips reverently over its scarred surface.

"I'm sorry." Rachel whispered miserably to the once beautiful instrument. "I know you didn't do anything wrong."

Rachel sighed as she turned around and continued to take in the state of the room. Chairs and music stands were tossed about, with obscenities spray painted across their surfaces; the very same words and inaccurate pictures etched into the piano. Even more piles of trash were littered among the risers, and what looked like blue paint was splattered across the walls.

It was a gruesome scene.

She stomped her feet in pure resentment for her classmates. She couldn't believe that they would really vandalize their own school in order to bully her. It made no sense. McKinley High students would give their left arm and leg in order to have an amazing choir room such as this. And the piano…

Rachel looked over to the vandalized instrument as if it were a fallen comrade in battle. It was a shame to have such an exquisite piano wasted. The wealthy were some of the worst people she ever had the displeasure of knowing. Except, perhaps, the boy with blond hair and green eyes that swam into her vision, but she almost immediately swept it from her mind. Sam Evans was the mysterious exception to the rule.

She suppressed a growl and rolled up sleeves to begin picking up the trash from the floor, remembering the words of the only person that seemed to show her kindness. F3 would not break her. She had promised this.

Rachel glanced around the room once again, mentally comparing the amount of trash on the floor to the tiny garbage bin sitting in the corner of the room. All of this mess would most certainly not fit. She just so happened to know exactly where the janitor's closet was, which held an almost infinite number of large garbage bags. She had spent many class periods hiding in there, after all.

But as she approached the choir room door—humming to herself in resolve—three bulky figures had suddenly blocked her exit. As she squinted upwards, she recognized them as part of the group that bumbled behind Noah Puckerman on a daily basis. Her stance immediately stiffened.

"E-Excuse me," Her voice cracked without her permission. Those boys were rather large. "I need to get through. A-And you're blocking my way."

When the boys did not respond alarm bells began to ring at the back of her mind. Something wasn't right.

She attempted to move past them, but was instantly shoved back inside of the choir room. They continued to back her in further until she began to stumble onto the risers. At this point, her heart was beginning to beat rapidly, and a foreboding feeling began to swirl within the pit of her stomach.

"Think about what you're doing." Rachel began her attempt to rationalize with them as she unsteadily maneuvered around fallen pieces of the choir room furniture. "I swear, I'll scream if you get any closer."

One of the boys—Azimio Adams, she believed his name was—chuckled in response. "You're the only loser who chooses to go to the music building during their free time."

It was at this time when Rachel began to really panic, because he was actually right. The music building halls were always deserted, hence why this place had become her solace.

She discreetly patted the pockets of her uniform, but the cell phone she had been searching for was conveniently absent. The last time she saw her phone was when she had—

If Rachel happened to be in a not-so-dire situation, she would have dramatically smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. She had safely tucked her phone away in her backpack to avoid getting any damages during any surprise pranks. Her backpack just so happened to be in her locker.

Across the campus.

In an entirely different building.

Terrific.

And then the panic, once again, struck. Rachel was in a secluded area, surrounded by three large boys with unclear intent. She glanced towards the door—her only escape—and thought that she had seen a movement within the shadows of the hallway, but it might have been the trick of the light.

Or maybe it was a side effect from her sporadic breathing. One could never be too sure.

"Did Quinn Fabray send you?" The thought alone caused a wave of anger to course through her body.

"We were told you needed to be shown your place, commoner." The tallest of the boys scoffed as he motioned around the room. "F3 sends their regards."

The moment the boy who spoke took at step forward Rachel immediately made a mad dash towards the exit.

But Rachel was too much to slow. Or maybe he was much too fast. She felt a strong hand yank the collar of her blazer, and suddenly the world flipped its axis and air was being pushed forcefully from her lungs. It took her a moment to realize that her back was slammed—hard—to the linoleum floor, and her eyes misted and blurred when the pain finally registered. She heard the scraping of fallen chairs and murmurs from the boys currently surrounding her again. "Shit, you didn't knock her out, did you?"

"She was running! I—"

"Quinn told us not to—"

"I know what she said! Help me out—"

"I'll grab her arms." She heard distantly, but she was still attempting to bring air back into her lungs and blink away the haze that crept into vision. Weren't they hovering right above her? And why was the room spinning? Despite her incapacitated state, Rachel began to flail her limbs with all her might. She also let out a piercing scream for help, just for good measure.

"Coleman, pin her legs! Karofsky, shut her up!"

Rachel felt a hand clasp around her mouth, but her struggles continued.

Rachel Barbra Berry refused to go down without a fight. She swore it.

But she also hoped, with all her might, that someone had the heart to come to her aid.

Yet unknown to the occupants in the choir room, in the shifting shadows that Rachel thought she saw just outside of the choir room door, stood a boy with a mop of dirty blond hair and furious green eyes. The help that Rachel needed had been keeping watch on her all afternoon.

***

"You've got to be fucking kidding me, Q. Please tell me this is a joke." Santana groaned with a roll of her eyes.

"I did not order that." Quinn stated firmly with clenched fists. "That's not what I said at all."

"This is going to be a PR nightmare." Santana mumbled as she rubbed the palm of her hands over her eyes. "An absolute disaster waiting to happen if this gets out."

Quinn set her shoulders back. "The plan was to only trash the choir room and scare her a little." She gazed steadily at Santana. "That's it. I swear it."

There was a short uncomfortable silence before Santana sighed.

"I think it was Brittany, you know. I know she asked Sam to look out for her."

Quinn's eyes hardened and Santana scrambled to explain before Quinn got too upset.

"I told her not to interfere—the rules, I know—but you know her. She's been worried about you, and she was scared that things were going to get out of hand."

Quinn took a deep breath in order to protest, but Santana quickly interrupted her. "But it's a good thing she did it, right?"

Quinn nearly allowed her shoulders to drop in shame. Nearly.

Santana hesitated with what she was going to say next. "You've been acting strange—damn near obsessive—for the past few weeks, Q."

Quinn was immediately on the defensive. "I have not—"

"Quinn!" The sudden outburst was a deep tenor; forceful and agitated. But it also didn't belong to anyone currently in the room. Everyone froze at the sound of shouts and pounding footsteps.

"Get off of me!" The voice continued over the shouts that sounded closer and closer at every moment that passed.

A mop of blond hair suddenly appeared above the stairway entrance.

Sam Evans was breathing heavily with fire in his eyes.

Puck appeared next, visibly out of breathe. "Dude," He gulped air greedily. "I said you can't just-"

But Sam wasn't paying attention. His eyes immediately zeroed in on Quinn's stoic form. Santana watched as he curled his upper lip and made a beeline for the F3 leader. Puck was quick to get a firm grip on Sam's upper arm to stop him from going any further as Quinn crossed her arms.

Sam pointed a finger at her with his free hand. Quinn noticed the bruises that began to form along the ridges of his knuckles. "You've taken things way too far."

Quinn arched an elegant eyebrow at the boy struggling within Puck's strong grip. "This isn't any of your business, Sam."

Sam made a lunge towards Quinn, but was stopped when Puck wrapped a strong arm around his neck. If he made another attempt to move, his air supply would successfully be cut off.

"It became my concern when you sent your goons to rough up an innocent girl!" Sam wheezed out.

"Let him go, Puck." Quinn stated firmly.

Puck stared at Quinn hesitantly. "But he—"

"She said let him go, you idiot." Santana snapped. "He's family."

Puck released his grip immediately, more out of shock than anything else.

"I did not order it." Quinn stated for the second time that day. She did not enjoy having to repeat herself. "At least not to the extent it was taken.

"Not only is this your responsibility, but those guys were a part of his crew." Sam pointed an accusatory finger at Puck.

Quinn's eyes suddenly blazed in the mohawked boy's direction. His eyes widened instantly, then his jaw ticked. "I would never tell the guys to hit a chick. Ever. Trust me on this one." Puck stated it with such vehemence that the truth of his statement could not be questioned.

"I believe him Q." Santana spoke suddenly. Puck's shoulders relaxed. Slightly. "I can smell a lie from a mile away, and the man-whore is actually being honest."

Puck grunted in protest at the insult. Quinn nodded in acknowledgment.

Sam's gaze landed on the floor. His jaw tensed and his fists clenched and released in deep thought. He shook his head and made a noise of frustration before raising his own green eyes to Quinn's hazel ones.

"Rachel is no longer Red Carded." Sam said sternly. It wasn't a request. Quinn's eyes flashed in warning, since she most certainly did not like being told what to do. Sam blatantly ignored it. "You owe her that at least."

Quinn bared her teeth, but didn't respond.

"And those three assholes? Adams, Karofsky, and Coleman. I want them gone. Period."

Quinn glared at him steadily. "I'll take care of them." Her eyes then shifted to Santana, who was now sporting a dangerous smirk.

Sam didn't say another word as he spun around and made his way towards the staircase, but a firm hand on his upper arm halted his movements. Sam turned slightly to see that Quinn and Santana were immersed in their own private conversation, and then he turned to glare at Puck.

"Get your hands off of me." Sam snarled, but Puck still held firm.

"Is Berry—is she okay?" Puck's tone of voice sounded...worried?

Sam shook his head, but refused to elaborate.

Puck nodded his head and looked towards the floor. The silence almost reached the point of being awkward until Puck spoke up. "Look, I admit that I might be kind of a tool, but I don't—I don't approve of that stuff."

"This doesn't erase all of the things you've done previously."

Puck lowered his voice so that Sam was the only person that could hear him clearly. "I know. Just...listen, I—I've got a kid, you know?" Sam thought he saw Puck's eyes flick in Quinn's direction, but he wasn't too sure. "A little girl. And I have a baby sister. Just the thought of anything happening to them just because they might have pissed someone off…" Puck trailed off.

Sam nodded his head solemnly at the statement, and also not nearly as surprised as he should have been about Puck having a child at such a young age. Puck's reputation preceded him. "She's still spooked."

Puck finally released his grip and rubbed the shaven part of his head awkwardly.

"Brittany and Kurt are with her now."

Puck nodded his head as he now understood Brittany's absence from the lounge.

Sam moved towards the staircase again, but Puck once again gripped his arm. This time, Sam didn't react.

"I'm going to kick their asses."

"Yeah?" Sam looked at Puck for a long moment before shaking off his grip. "Well, I got to them first."

He then descended the staircase without another word.

***

"So you're telling me that Sam Evans—"

Quinn paused her sentence as she swung a baseball bat and let out a low grunt of disappointment when she missed the ball completely.

"—just showed up." Quinn finished the question without really asking. She turned around with a raised eyebrow towards the three boys huddled nervously against the fence.

She had all but demanded that Azimio Adams, Josh Coleman, and David Karofsky meet her at Fabray Enterprises private batting cages after school in order to verify Sam's recollection of the final blow against Rachel Berry.

The conversation was not a pleasant one.

Quinn let out a humorless laugh. "Three of you against one person. And it looks like he beat you into the dirt."

The boys shifted uncomfortably.

"It must run in our family," Quinn stated absently. "The capability to beat the hell out of mindless idiots."

Quinn turned to face the pitching machine when it began to noisily whir in warning. The baseball suddenly shot with a soft pop and she once again swung the bat, connecting it to the ball with a satisfying crack. She didn't notice that the boys behind her visibly flinched at the sound.

"Y-Yeah." Coleman spoke up nervously for the group. His swollen bottom lip altered his speech. "We did what you asked…"

Quinn slammed her palm on the button next to her in order to stop the pitching machine. Without its constant humming, the batting cage was now eerily silent. The boys gulped in unison.

"You did what I asked." She chuckled as she repeated his statement, shaking her head in disbelief. Faster than lightning, Quinn whirled around, and the bat that was once held limply in her hands painfully connected to Coleman's leg. He screamed in agony. Quinn couldn't help but to think that Santana would be rather proud of her if she were here.

"I said no physical harm comes to Rachel Berry!"

The two boys still standing, winced at the volume of her voice. Coleman was still rolling around on the floor in pain.

She pointed the bat towards Azimio's nose as she recounted what Sam witnessed. "Slammed to the floor?" She shifted the bat towards David. "Pinned down? What the hell does that sound like to you?"

Azimio was the bravest one to speak up in their defense. "It sounds bad, but she started to run! We didn't—"

"Your stupidity is astounding, Adams." She tapped the floor with her bat and smirked when the boys flinched in fear.

"If I see any of you on or near my campus," Quinn pointed her bat threateningly to Azimio and David. "I'll make sure that you will never be able to walk again. Am I clear?"

The boys nodded in mute shock, not quite absorbing what Quinn was suggesting.

Quinn narrowed her eyes. "All of you get out of my sight." Quinn lifted her bat to rest on her shoulders and motioned to Josh's writhing form on the floor. "And take him with you. His screaming is giving me a headache."

Azimio and David only continued to gape in shock. Had they just been unofficially kicked out of Dalton? They both knew that whatever came out of Quinn Fabray's mouth was basically law, but…

"Why are you still here." She snarled out. The boys wasted no more time in gathering up their fallen friend and scrambling out of the gate of the batting cage.

It wasn't until long after they disappeared from sight did Quinn allow her shoulders to sag in quiet lament. The weight of what could have happened to Rachel Berry if her cousin hadn't arrived finally settled in her conscience.

She pinched the bridge of her nose with a sigh.

Things most certainly did not go as planned.


	5. Aftermath

Quinn Fabray was beginning to feel frustrated.

Extremely so.

To the public eye, Quinn would seem as aloof as ever with an elegant poise; spine, rim-rod straight, and her chin held high in superiority. Yet in the company of her two closest friends—her only true friends—she was as restless as a caged lioness.

"Where is she?"

She was pacing the floor of the F3's private classroom Thursday afternoon as she ignored Santana and Brittany's concerned gazes. It had been a week after The Incident, as Quinn liked to call it, and a week since Rachel's Red Card status had officially been revoked.

A week since Rachel Berry had all but disappeared off the face of the earth.

"Does it matter? She couldn't handle it." Santana huffed out. Quinn scowled at her friend's blunt words. "You wanted her gone, so she's gone. Still not sure why you're so worked up about it."

Quinn—well—she didn't really understand why she was so concerned about Rachel's disappearance either. This was usually the part of the plan that Quinn would feel utterly satisfied that she had broken her victim. It hadn't been the first person that Quinn had caused to leave the school, after all.

But instead of feeling victorious, it felt as though a rock had sunk down into the pit of her stomach. Perhaps she felt as though her punishment far outweighed the crime.

Or maybe she just assumed that Rachel's notoriously stubborn nature would prevent her from—what, exactly? Giving up so easily? Running away from Quinn instead of facing her head-on, as expected? Why would Rachel go through all the effort of going against her if she was just going to—

Quinn let out an aggravated sigh.

It took every ounce of self-control in order for her not to slam her fists into the nearest mahogany desk at her thoughts, because she shouldn't be thinking them at all. Hence, Quinn's overall frustration.

Plus, how was Rachel supposed to show Quinn her undying gratitude for releasing her from her punishment if she wasn't even here. This was bullshit.

"What if she goes to press about this?" Santana, once again, felt the need to state her opinion. "If your mom has to get involved to do damage control..."

Quinn whirled immediately and practically hissed at the mention of her mother. "You think I haven't thought of that? Stop stating the obvious, Santana."

Santana shrugged one shoulder, unapologetic.

"I don't think Rachel left for good." Brittany regarded Quinn thoughtfully. "She didn't withdraw, and her transactions haven't been transferred yet. I checked."

Santana raised an eyebrow. "Transcripts, Britt?"

"You know what I meant, Santana. Obviously." Brittany answered with an uncharacteristic amount of bite in her tone. Santana had the decency to look ashamed as she shrank down into her cushioned chair. Brittany had been in a rather sour mood lately, and Santana had been taking the brunt of her mood swings.

Quinn honestly didn't care enough to want to know why.

"Maybe she just needed a break?" Brittany continued. "She was pretty shaken up."

"She should be." Santana added, while shooting a cautious look towards Brittany in her peripheral. "That's the point of being Red Carded."

Quinn nodded in agreement, though she ignored the mysterious pressure in chest at the thought.

The students of Dalton seemed fear her much more, especially when word had spread about what Quinn Fabray had ordered against the innocent commoner, Rachel Berry.

Of course, gossip doesn't spread without its falsities and exaggerations. And if the press caught wind of the happenings within Dalton Academy…

She clenched her fists.

But she hated to admit that some of the stories floating around the campus were not that far off from the actual truth, but only because things had gotten so much out of her control.

And if there was anything that Quinn Fabray could not live without, it was her need for control.

Quinn was all about logistics, planning, objectives and tasks. Little emotion was ever involved in her decision making process. She felt herself bristle at the thought of those three idiots that strayed away from her original plan. All she really wanted from Rachel was a humble apology—preferably, on her knees.

Despite popular belief, her intent wasn't to traumatize the girl for the rest of her life.

But Rachel was the one who initiated her own Red Card status in the first place.

It was Rachel's blatant disrespect of Quinn's authority in the school.

It was Rachel's stubbornness and refusal to apologize.

It was Rachel who shoved an ice cream cone in her face.

Why should Quinn feel guilty—she swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth at the word—when everything was all Rachel's fault.

Quinn let out a sigh as she perched herself at the edge of her desk and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

Damn, Rachel Berry.

Damn her.

***

"Are you sure that you're okay?"

This was the third time that Tina has asked Rachel this question as she polished one of the many counters in the music store, and the third time that Rachel shrugged her shoulders in a half-hearted reply. To be honest, Rachel didn't really know how to answer it. Was she okay?

"Rachel," Tina chewed worriedly on her bottom lip. "You've skipped school for an entire week, already."

Rachel's back stiffened. "I just need time."

Tina sighed and continued. "How long are you going to keep playing sick at home while sneaking here to work when your dads are gone?"

Rachel gripped the polishing cloth in her hand. "Tina—"

"You obviously don't feel safe enough to go back there." Tina ducked into Rachel's line of sight. "What the F3 did to you was completely unacceptable. And even though I'm trying to respect your decision not to tell your parents, I think—"

Rachel huffed and moved around Tina to find something to busy herself with. "Tina, I-I'm fine. Okay?"

With her back towards her best friend, Rachel paused and clenched her eyes shut. She took a deep breath. "My Dad and Daddy—" Rachel sighed. "They just seem so happy that I've gotten such a great opportunity." Tina nodded in understanding, though Rachel could not see it.

"If I just leave Dalton and lose the scholarship, they would be so…" Rachel trailed off, not wanting to finish her sentence. "And if I leave, it would prove to Quinn—to them—that I gave in to their tyranny."

Tina approached Rachel slowly, and frowned when she noticed her best friend flinch when she placed what was supposed to be a comforting hand on Rachel's shoulder.

"Just to remind you," Tina tugged until Rachel was, once again, facing her. "You don't need to prove anything to anyone. They don't deserve it. And both you and I know that your parents would love you just the same."

Rachel scrunched her face in attempt to hold back her tears, but when Tina wrapped her arms around her, she let them fall freely.

"Can I be honest with you?" Rachel mumbled against Tina's shoulder, sniffling all the while. Tina nodded her head.

"I'm absolutely terrified." She breathed out as if she had just removed the weight world from her shoulders. "If Sam hadn't been there, who knows what would have happened?"

Tina hummed. "You're here and just fine right?

Rachel's sobs quieted as she nodded her head, inadvertently wiping her tears on Tina's shirt. "I know, I just—"

The sharp sound of a ringing bell indicated that a customer just entered the store. The girls quickly pulled apart. Tina moved to go greet the customer at the door and Rachel stayed in place as she tried to discreetly wipe away her tears. Face cleaned to her satisfaction, Rachel whipped around with a forced smile, but it instantly wavered. She saw Tina frozen in place with her mouth hung open in shock. Beyond her, right at the entrance, stood a familiar blonde.

Rachel's forced smile relaxed into a frown.

The girl, seemingly excited now that Rachel was finally within her view, waved frantically while bouncing on her toes.

Even in a simple white shirt and dark blue jeans, Brittany S. Pierce looked as though she had just walked away from a high-profile photo shoot.

"B-Brittany P-Pierce?" Tina's insecurity-stemmed stutter was back in full force at the appearance of a girl she had only seen in pop-magazines and gossip websites.

Brittany tilted her head in a modest nod before shifting her sunglasses to the top of her head. "Hi there!"

Before Tina could open her mouth to respond, Rachel stepped around Tina to face the member of F3 with crossed arms. "What are you doing here?" Her eyes narrowed. "Did Quinn send you?"

Rachel heard Tina gasp at the mention of the F3 leader's name.

Brittany raised her hands surrender. "I came here on my own. Honest." And added with an almost affronted tone. "Plus, Quinn doesn't send me anywhere. I'm not her lackey. I'm her friend."

When Rachel looked thoroughly chastised, Brittany's eyes brightened immediately. "But um…" She stuck her hands in her back pocket. "I came here looking for a piano to replace the one in the choir room, but—" Brittany's eyes roamed the contents of the store, figuring that they probably didn't have what she was looking for. Rachel and Tina blushed, suddenly self conscious.

"T-This is a second-hand music shop." Tina stuttered to the floor. "I-I don't think you'd f-find— "

Brittany dismissed the notion with a wave of her hand, stepping closer to Rachel and Tina with a small smile. "I came here looking for a piano but I knew Rachel worked here, too."

Rachel's shoulders stiffened. "How did you—"

"Can we talk?" Brittany's expression, hopeful

Rachel shook her head. "Brittany, I'm sorry but—"

"I would really like it if we did." Brittany's blue eyes brightened to unreasonable proportions. At that moment Rachel realized that saying no to Brittany would be like kicking a kitten into a river. Rachel bit her bottom lip.

"Okay." Rachel sighed, then nodded her head, as if to reaffirm herself. "Okay. How does coffee sound?"

Brittany clapped her hands excitedly. "Coffee!"

***

Brittany stared around the small coffee shop in wonder. Small knick-knacks and figurines adorned its shelves, and unusual abstract paintings adorned its walls. The shop itself was quite small, but gave the characteristics of being incredibly intimate and inviting, along with its mismatched plush chairs, and rounded wooden tables.

She had never been to a café like this before.

"You seem like you've never had coffee before." Rachel watched Brittany finally moved her attention from her surroundings and took an experimental whiff from the cup in her grip. Her nose scrunched adorably, as if the smell was completely unexpected. Rachel couldn't help the amused smile to flit across her features. Each moment she spent with the girl, it was getting harder and harder to associate her with the ridiculously wealthy, F3.

"Yes, I've had coffee." Brittany sounded a bit insulted. "Just not…this coffee."

"This coffee." Rachel repeated incredulously.

Brittany nodded her head. "My mom is really obsessed with the stuff, so she has fresh coffee beans flown in from the Hawaii and Jamaica every few days. Sometimes Indonesia on special occasions." Brittany shrugged her shoulder. "Our personal chef cold-brews it for hours. That's why this one probably seems different..."

Rachel's shoulders drooped. So much for not associating her with the F3.

An awkward silence descended between the two girls. Brittany perched her chin on an upturned palm and Rachel began to rhythmically tap the sides of her styrofoam cup.

They both attempted to break the silence at the same time.

"I never got the chance to say thank you for being there after the choir room incident."

"I'm glad that you seem to be doing a lot better, Rachel."

They both paused.

"But what are you doing here?"

"When are you coming back to Dalton?"

They blinked, then attempted to answer each other's questions.

"That's not really any of your concern—"

"I wanted to see if you were okay—"

They both paused again, but Rachel nodded her head towards Brittany, giving her permission to speak first.

"You're not Red Carded anymore, if you're wondering." Brittany smiled shyly.

Rachel regarded the girl coolly. "Fantastic."

When Brittany's smile slid off of her features, Rachel almost felt bad for being so rude. Almost. "And those boys. You won't be seeing them again."

"Did you guys get them to jump off a roof, like Finn Hudson?"

Brittany frowned. Rachel knew that it was a low blow, she just couldn't find it within herself to care at the moment.

"You're angry." Brittany stated matter-of-factly after a moment of staring into her coffee cup. Rachel's only response was to take sip of her latte. Brittany nodded in understanding. "Quinn needs to know this."

Rachel's head snapped up at the name. "E-Excuse me?"

"I need you to understand a few things about us. Quinn needs to understand how much this has affected you, Rachel."

***

Quinn Fabray didn't expect the sharp sting of a slap across her left cheek the moment she walked into Dalton Monday morning, nor did she expect the second sting across her right one. The shocked gasps of the usual morning crowd went unnoticed as she stared at the fuming commoner in front of her. Rachel moved to raise her hand once more, but this time Quinn was prepared, and snatched her wrist mid trajectory.

Rachel struggled feebly within Quinn's surprisingly strong grip. "Let me go, Quinn—"

Quinn used the opportunity to drag Rachel just a bit closer. "I'm getting really tired of you hitting me, Berry." She hissed, then forcibly released her wrist. Rachel lunged again but found herself gripped and lifted around the waist by a rather annoyed looking Santana Lopez.

"Whoa there, hobbit."

Rachel huffed at the impromptu nickname as she struggled within her grip. "If that is a direct reference to my short stature, I'll have you know that I am actually within the normal height range for my age, and that you, Santana Lopez, are not much taller than me without the aid of—"

"God you talk a lot." Santana ducked her head in order to narrowly miss a flying elbow. "Stop—" She winced when she felt Rachel's knee somehow connect to her gut. "Stop moving!"

"Be careful with her, San." Brittany peered over Quinn's shoulder. Santana shot a quick look of annoyance in her direction, but adjusted her hold around Rachel anyway.

Quinn parted the gaping crowd with a flick of wrist. "Bring her to the classroom." She called over her shoulder ignoring Rachel's ranting. Santana nodded and hoisted Rachel into a (much safer) fireman's carry. Santana was incredibly strong for a girl so petite. But then again considering her family's line of work—

The mere thought of it caused Rachel to panic and pound her fists into Santana's back.

"Let me go! Put me down this instant! Put me—"

***  
 __

_"Santana is…" Brittany paused as a shy smile flitted across her features. Her hands drummed a steady beat on her coffee cup. "Santana is Santana." Her voice sounded wistful, and held a sense of admiration that had Rachel thinking that Brittany and Santana's relationship might have been a little more than just friendship. Rachel refused to touch on the matter, however._

_"Well, she's awfully intimidating." Rachel added carefully._

_"San seems scary but—" Brittany sighed and rested her palm under her chin. "Okay, yeah, she's actually really scary. But not because she wants to be, it's because she has to be."_

_Rachel nodded her head slowly, still not comprehending. Though she had an idea of what Brittany meant._

_Brittany suddenly frowned. "Even though she treats me like a child sometimes, and doesn't really listen—she's very protective of us. Me and Quinn." Brittany stared wistfully out of the window. "And she's one of the strongest people I know."_

***

Rachel was then unceremoniously dropped onto a surprisingly soft, carpeted floor. Santana growled out a string of Spanish words above her, Quinn leaned against a mahogany desk to her right, and Brittany twirled in a plush chair behind a similar desk to her left. She heard the classroom door click shut.

She immediately jumped to her feet after feeling a sense of déjà vu. "Three against one." Rachel bit out with more harshness than she felt. "This seems familiar."

Quinn's shoulders immediately stiffened, Santana clenched her fists, and Brittany stilled her movements in the chair.

A deafening silence settled into the room.

Quinn was the first to break it. "How much."

Rachel tilted her head in confusion. "How much, what?"

"How much do you want." Quinn let out a frustrated noise and repeated herself through gritted teeth.

"She's talking about money, Berry." Santana interrupted with a roll of her eyes.

Rachel gaped at the F3 leader. Brittany had warned her about this, but couldn't believe it until she saw it for herself. She shook her head in utter disbelief. "Are you trying to pay me off?"

Quinn rounded on Rachel. "If that's what it takes to shut you up, then yes."

***  
 __

_"All Quinn knows is money." Brittany stated solemnly. "Sometimes I think it's because that's all her mom has shown her. She's learned that anything—or anyone—can be easily bought."_

_Rachel absolutely hated the fact that Brittany was attempting to humanize Quinn Fabray, and lamented at the fact that her heart panged at the thought of Quinn's seemingly cold upbringing. Especially in comparison to the warmth her parents had given her since the day she was born._

_"I completely disagree with that statement." Rachel contributed cautiously. "But I do know that wealth is a very powerful thing."_

_Brittany nodded her head as a frown crossed her features. "And people always respect power, or they're scared of it." She dipped her head to take a sip of her coffee. "She was raised not to trust anyone because of that fear. Ever. All of us were."_

_Rachel absently took a quick sip of her coffee. For a girl so…eccentric, Brittany S. Pierce was surprisingly insightful._

***

Rachel made her way across the room until she was directly in front of Quinn and poked right beneath her collar bone. "If you think you can just throw money at me to ease your guilty conscious, you've got another thing coming, Quinn Fabray!" She crossed her arms with a huff. "Contrary to popular belief, money doesn't solve everything! It won't buy my silence, and most certainly will not buy my happiness."

As Rachel turned to initiate her signature storm-out, Quinn grabbed her arm and pulled her until she was only a inches away. Damn it all if Quinn wasn't even more beautiful up close. She immediately shook her head to clear her thoughts.

"And what if I believe otherwise, Berry?"

Rachel could feel her breath across her cheeks. She felt her voice hitch against her will.

Quinn continued. "What if I told you that in my world, money solves everything." Quinn gave an almost insulting once-over. "Especially when it comes to commoners such as yourself."

"Then I would tell you," Rachel used her free hand to pry away Quinn's grip on her arm while giving her a quiet glare. "That you've never been more wrong about me."

Quinn peered down at her. "Then what do you want?"

Rachel took deep even breaths as she shifted her gaze to the floor. "Even though you would deserve any and every consequence that would come with me going public with this," Her eyes suddenly met Quinn's with the same fire that she encountered the very first day Rachel Berry graced the halls of Dalton Academy. "I want nothing from you."

Quinn let out a huff. "Nothing?"

"Nothing." Rachel reiterated. "Just stay away from me."

"That's something, dwarf." Santana bit out as she casually observed her nails.

Rachel sent a glare in Santana's direction and continued as if she hadn't been interrupted. "All of you." She nodded almost apologetically in Brittany's direction, then raised her head defiantly towards Quinn. "Especially you. Just stay away from me and I promise not to say a word."

Quinn's eyes narrowed. "Is that a demand?"

Rachel shook her head and took a step back. "It's a request." She leveled another steady gaze at Quinn.

"I want nothing to do with you."

***  
 _  
"You've piqued her interest, you know." Brittany swirled her index finger over the top of her coffee cup. "She would never admit it out loud, at least."_

_Rachel sent a puff of air to her bangs and scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. "I don't understand."_

_"Not very many people are willing to stand up to the heiress of Fabray Enterprises. Even less people in her life are willing to deny her anything."_

_Rachel tried not to feel prideful about this, but was wholly unsuccessful._

_"You're an analogy to her, Rachel."_

_Rachel tilted her head in confusion. "I'm an analogy—oh! An anomaly?"_

_"I just don't think she knows how to react to you." Brittany added, ignoring Rachel's correction._

_"So instead of speaking to me like a normal human being, she orders the entire school to target me? She orders three boys to corner me in the choir room to—"_

_"Quinn didn't order that!" Brittany stated with such ferocity that Rachel gave pause. "I know it! The choir room...it-it wasn't like that! I've known her for way too long, and I trust her when she says that wasn't something intentional!"_

_Rachel could only stare, wide-eyed, in response. She wasn't expecting that reaction from her at all. She turned her gaze to her now empty coffee cup for a moment before shaking her head in resolve. "Listen," She lifted her eyes back to Brittany's. "Being Red Carded in general is not a fun experience. You need to understand that. But the choir room? Intentional or not, it was terrifying. Something worse could have happened if Sam had not been there to interfere. It also doesn't change the fact that Quinn was the one who initiated it."_

_"So you're not coming back, then." Brittany's voice was calm now, but still did not quite hold sunny disposition that it did earlier._

_Rachel shook her head to deny the statement. "You see, I never actually planned on leaving. I just needed time."_

***

"You sounded ridiculous, Q." After Rachel had left the room in a flair, Santana rounded on Quinn while procuring a nail file out of thin air.

"'What if I told you that in my world, money solves everything.'" Santana mocked Quinn's normal timbre. Brittany shot Santana a disapproving look.

"It's true. But I was also testing a theory." Quinn murmured, completely dismissing Santana's insults as she stared thoughtfully out of the window, twirling strands of golden hair between her fingers.

Santana sat a bit straighter in the seat. "Theory?"

Quinn moved a bit closer to the window, catching a glimpse of Rachel walking briskly through the courtyard.

"Why do you think Berry has been so defiant with me since day one?"

Santana shrugged her shoulders with raised eyebrows.

"Because you yelled at her to lick your boot?" Brittany brightly contributed.

Quinn shook her head and turned to face her friends as she perched on the windowsill. "What if..." She crossed her arms and began to tap her fingers against her forearm. "What if she's been trying to get my attention all this time? She doesn't have very many friends. And it would make sense for her to attempt to gain a powerful one."

Santana laughed to herself as she continued to file her nails, but when she looked up, Quinn Fabray still looked to be deep in thought.

Brittany and Santana exchanged incredulous glances.

Holy shit, Quinn was serious.

Santana blinked once, twice, then broke into full blown laughter.

Quinn Fabray did not look very amused.


	6. Chapter 6

**Friday 3:55pm**

Santana knew that Quinn Fabray had the tendency to become obsessed with her goals. She, herself, was quite the determined individual, and understood that sometimes the end results completely justified the means. It was the Lopez family motto, after all.

But Santana absolutely drew the line at kidnap.

The non-business related kind, of course.

"She's in my bed." Quinn's eerily calm voice crackled through Santana's cell phone. "She's not awake yet, but my staff is dressing her as we speak."

Santana opened her mouth only to have a gargled mess of sound come out instead. She wanted to form—well—any sentence, really. But she couldn't seem to get over the shock of what she had just heard.

"Santana, are you alright?"

Santana removed the phone from her ear and stared at the picture of Quinn illuminating her screen, just to make sure she was really speaking to her best friend. Was this really happening?

"Santana?" She pressed the phone back to ear when she heard Quinn's voice once again filtering through the tiny speaker.

"What the actual fuck is wrong with you, Quinn!" She whispered harshly.

"Nothing is wrong with me—"

"Quinn." Santana closed her eyes and began to mutter to herself in Spanish; an unsuccessful attempt to calm herself down. She eyed the figure lying beneath the dark covers of her bed and sighed in relief when the body didn't stir. "The girl you've tortured since day one is currently unconscious in your home, and I'll bet my right tit that it was technically against her will."

"That's not what—"

"That's exactly what happened." Santana growled lowly. Moving as silently to her closet as possible to look for a change of clothes. "I'm coming over."

"Santana!" Quinn immediately protested. "You—"

"I'm coming over." Santana hissed once more, and hung up the phone.

She began to mumble a string of curse words under her breath as she yanked on a pair of jeans, hissing her teeth every few moments as a quiet outlet of her frustration.

"San?" Not quiet enough, apparently. Santana turned around to see sleepy blue eyes peering at her just above the confines of the comforter.

Santana's eyes softened almost immediately. "Go back to sleep, Britt." She deftly buttoned and zipped her jeans and threw on a casual t-shirt. "I'll be back soon."

Brittany sat up a bit further on Santana's bed, rubbing her eyes adorably. "Was that Quinn on the phone?"

"Yeah." Santana moved towards the bed, leaning down to place a lingering kiss onto Brittany's lips, sneakily nudging her back down onto the mattress in the process. "Quinn is just being…Quinn right now. "I'll be back here before you know it."

Brittany rolled over until she was lying on her stomach, closing her eyes and snuggling into Santana's soft pillows. "Okay. I'm sleepy anyway."

Santana smirked triumphantly. "I wore you out."

Brittany let out a huff of laughter, her eyes still closed. "I remember you being knocked out cold before your phone rang." Santana blushed a deep scarlet. "Now go fix Quinn."

Santana placed a quick kiss on Brittany's exposed shoulder and headed for the door. Brittany was right.

It was time to go fix Quinn.

***

**Friday 12:23pm**

Rachel was only alerted to Kurt's presence at the gentle clack of a wooden lunch tray. She squinted up to see a hesitant smile crossing his features, but she most certainly was not in the mood to return it.

Her car broke down before she even made it out of the driveway that morning. And with her parents out of town for a weekend tailoring conference, she had no choice but to take public transportation. It turned out the bus went no further than the base of the hill that Dalton Academy was located, and the school was another four mile walk along a rather large winding road from her current position.

Security reasons, the bus driver claimed.

So after three bus transfers and an hour walk later, Rachel had missed two of her morning classes. Adding an apologetic Kurt to the equation just soured her mood even further. But despite her frosty glare, Kurt tentatively took a seat directly across from her.

"H-Hi." Was his hesitant greeting.

"Hello." Ever minding her manners, she greeting him verbally. But Rachel's tone was no less icy than her glare.

"I haven't seen you around lately."

Kurt was absolutely right, she didn't really want to be seen. Since she came back to Dalton Academy from her week long hiatus (and the admittedly dramatic assault against Quinn), she had been taking her lunches at the outdoor tables in the courtyard.

Away from the hustle and bustle of the cafeteria.

Away from the glares of her classmates.

Away from Quinn Fabray, who surprisingly kept her word and stayed her distance. But every once in a while, she caught the F3 leader shooting expectant glances in her direction. It was almost as if she were waiting for something.

Rachel ignored those looks for the most part.

Brittany would initially wave every time she caught sight of Rachel. Until, of course, Santana pulled her to the side with a deep scowl in Rachel's direction over her shoulder, and whispered something into Brittany's ear. Since then, Brittany's energetic greetings had stopped. But it did not stop the small smiles from her whenever Rachel passed the group in the hallways.

Rachel watched as Kurt's throat bobbed in nervousness, but silently commended him for pressing on. "A-Are you doing well?" He daintily arranged his silverware in order to avoid her gaze as he waited for her response. If Kurt had been looking, he would have seen her nod stiffly in response.

"I've seen worst days." Her tone was measured. Kurt fiddled with his salad fork guiltily. "But," She paused, voice softening. "I never got a chance to say thank you."

Kurt's gaze snapped to her own at the statement.

"For the uniforms. A-And staying staying with Brittany and I in the choir room." Her voice hardened once again. "Though you were conveniently absent throughout the rest."

His shoulders sagged. "I know." He paused for a moment. "Rachel, I'm so—"

"Don't." She interrupted. Kurt's mouth clamped shut immediately. "Just don't. You don't have the right to apologize to me yet. Simply because right now it would be an empty one. I don't trust you enough to accept it. Do you understand?"

He cast his gaze downward and nodded in understanding.

Rachel let out a sigh, effectively calming herself down. "At McKinley, one of my biggest flaws was that I was entirely too forgiving." She watched Kurt distractedly move around the salad on his plate. "I was willing to let people who had been making fun of me for years to—" She cut herself off. The memory was more painful than she'd like to admit. "I-I was lonely, and the thought of losing a potential friend over troubled history frightened me." Her gaze shifted to the left. "It was a glaring insight to my insecurities. Not that I don't still have them but—my sentiments here at Dalton are most certainly not the same."

The memories of her forgiving nature caused Rachel to internally cringe. What about forgiving her three attackers? What about forgiving Quinn Fabray? There was once a time that Rachel would have absolutely vied for someone like Quinn to be her friend. Someone beautiful, blonde, and popular; someone that she would always harbor secret envy and resentment, because it was something that she could never be.

"There's nothing more that I want to do than to forgive you and pretend that none of this ever happened. But I promised myself that I wouldn't let people take advantage of me again. Not that way."

She sighed as Kurt looked at her with sad eyes. "What would it take?" His voice was low.

Rachel shrugged her shoulders. "To trust you again?" Kurt nodded his head. "I don't know. Time, maybe?"

He clenched his jaw, resolute. "I'll earn it."

Her only response was a nod, though she had to restrain herself from allowing a small smile to slip over her features.

They began to eat in silence. That is, until Kurt disrupted it with a nervous cough.

"So…"

Rachel looked up curiously. Kurt took this as permission to continue, but treaded carefully. "Sam Evans."

Rachel stiffened, unreasonably defensive about her protector. "What about Sam?"

Kurt speared a tomato on his plate. "Rumor has it that he seems rather interested in your well-being."

"There's rumors?" Rachel barely hid the small blush behind her bottled water, still keeping in mind the tension between her and Kurt. Truthfully, Rachel hadn't caught sight of Sam since that fateful day, and she had been looking. She searched the places that she would normally see him, even going as far as doing a quick check in the choir room (she shuddered at this. Even though the room was back to its pristine condition, the memory couldn't be shaken), but the search was unsuccessful. It was as if he disappeared off the face of the earth.

As usual, whenever Rachel's thoughts strayed to Sam, her hands moved to the now washed and pressed handkerchief that he had given her in her cardigan pocket. Her intent had been to return the item to him, but once again, he was nowhere to be found.

Rachel sighed outwardly as her thumb rubbed absently over his stitched initials. All she really wanted to do was repay his kindness.

"It's kind of strange, though." Kurt continued, effectively interrupting her thoughts. "Because he usually just keeps to himself."

Rachel hummed neutrally.

"Especially whenever it came to the affairs of F3. No one has ever really bothered him either, with Quinn being his cousin and all—"

If Kurt had been paying attention, he would have heard the clatter of a fork falling against the table. "It's Dalton's worst kept secret, and that would cause anyone to avoid him like a plague. You of all people would know to avoid the wrath of Quinn Fabray at all costs."

Rachel sat with her mouth hung open in shock as Kurt rambled on. She had stopped listening the moment Kurt stated the words 'Quinn' and 'cousin' in the same sentence. That couldn't be possible.

Sam Evans, the boy who showed her nothing but kindness since she had began her term at Dalton, was related to that pompously entitled, selfish, arrogant bully who—

Rachel stood abruptly from her seat, eyes unfocused and breaths coming out in heavy gusts.

"Rachel?" Kurt's eyes were wide at Rachel's sudden change in demeanor. "Are you okay?"

Was this some kind of joke?

"I need some air." The handkerchief tucked in her cardigan pocket suddenly seemed to burn hot against her skin. So distracted, Rachel missed Kurt's look of confusion.

"But we're already—" Rachel spun on her heel and began to march away in an indiscriminate direction. She didn't hear Kurt finish his sentence to an empty seat.

"—outside…"

***

Rachel had been distracted for the rest of the day, her mind racing with the information she had received during lunch.

Sam and Quinn were cousins.

As in related.

By blood.

She ignored the urge to muss her own hair in frustration as she began her four mile hike down the winding hill towards the bus stop. Was this some kind of joke? Did they meet at the end of every day and laugh heartily at her expense? Was this some grand scheme where Sam was meant to lull her into a false sense of security until Quinn decided to strike once and for all, only to leave Rachel completely humiliated and heartbroken?

Rachel clenched a fist around the handkerchief in her pocket as she listened to car after car pass beside her from the sidewalk. She had attempted time and time again to throw it away throughout the day, but her hand would shake in hesitation as it hovered over one of the many trashcans on campus. Her thoughts would always replay the kindness in his eyes as he encouraged her to stay strong against the F3. Or the concern in his furrowed eyebrows as he helped her off of the floor in the choir room.

Rachel shook her head to dismiss the thoughts. Sam just seemed too sincere to be involved in such a cruel scheme.

But perhaps he was just a good actor. Or perhaps Rachel needed to admit that she really didn't know him at all.

She released the handkerchief within her pocket and crossed her arms in thought. At this pace she would probably miss the four o'clock bus, but she really wasn't concerned. Perhaps she could ask Tina to pick her up after her tutoring session. If it wasn't too inconvenient, of course—

"Berry."

Rachel froze, her spine stiffening almost to the point of being painful. She had been so distracted that she hadn't noticed the car that rolled to a stop right next to her.

A sleek, black Rolls Royce.

Quinn Fabray's car to be exact.

Quinn wasn't driving of course. Instead, she was sitting primly in its expansive back seat as her hazel eyes peered out of the open window. She was staring right at Rachel, who ignored the heiress and forced her feet to move. The car slowly kept her pace.

"I know that you're poor, but I could have sworn you at least owned a car." Quinn baited her. Rachel didn't take it.

"I thought I told you to stay away from me." Rachel kept her gaze forward as she continued to walk. "And just to inform you, middle-class is not considered poor, Quinn."

Quinn ignored her and, once again, implemented the habit of asking a question without really asking. "Why are you walking home."

"My mode of transportation is none of your concern." Rachel glanced in her direction. "Though I'll have you know that I'm not walking all the way home. I'm taking the bus."

If Rachel's glance lasted just a moment longer she would have seen a frown cross Quinn's features. Quinn was silent for a moment before she asked almost hesitantly, "The public bus?"

Rachel furrowed her eyebrows and stopped to fully face the car, thoroughly confused by Quinn's behavior. "What do you want, Quinn?"

When her tormentor only stared, Rachel continued to walk. Quinn's driver continued to pace the car silently beside her. The heiress looked to be deep in thought.

"Get in the car." Quinn all but demanded after a few moments of uncomfortable silence.

"No." Rachel answered almost immediately.

"No?" Quinn lips tilted downward as she repeated the word incredulously.

"Yes, no."

"Berry," Quinn's voice lowered dangerously. Rachel felt a shiver in her spine at her tone, but still held her head high. "Get in the damn car."

"I would rather not, thank you."

"Get in before I drag you in here myself."

"That's not how you ask someone to do anything! You sound like a Neanderthal, Quinn."

"And you sound like an ungrateful simpleton, Berry."

Rachel huffed and sped up her pace, trying not to panic as she heard the car screech to a halt and the distinct sound of a car door slamming shut.

"Berry!"

Rachel spun around, frustrated beyond belief, though she continued to keep her pace while walking backwards. "Leave me alone! That is all I'm asking, Quinn."

The heiress continued to stalk forward. "Stop being so stubborn. Just get in the car."

"I know that you may not understand the meaning of no, but—" Rachel spun back around, but before she could finish her sentence, her shin connected painfully to a metal object, and then she was toppling head first to the sidewalk. There was a sudden, sharp pain on the left side of her forehead, and just before her vision went dark, hazel eyes swam in and out of her line of sight.

***

**Friday 4:47pm**

"Are you sure she's breathing?"

Santana and Quinn were peering down at an unconscious Rachel Berry.

"Of course she is."

Santana moved a bit closer to observe a small purpling bruise on the left side of Rachel's forehead. "So you decided to bash her over the head and drag her to your lair." She turned to smirk at Quinn. "How very cavewoman of you."

"I didn't—" Quinn crossed her arms defensively."Look,s he tripped over a fire hydrant."

"Is she concussed?"

"I don't think so."

"There's no way she could still be knocked out from that." Santana looked at Quinn, who was now staring pointedly at the floor; her very own version of a guilty pout. Santana rolled her eyes. "What did you do."

Quinn scuffed her feet. "One of my bodyguards…might have used methods to neutralize her. But only because she woke up in an uncontrollable panic."

Santana's eyes widened. "Jesus Christ." Santana rubbed her forehead in frustration. "So you knocked her out, and decided to dress her up in—" Santana did a quick scan of the dress hugging Rachel's form, deftly fingering the material on Rachel's thigh. "—a designer dress? For what?"

"To prove a point."

"What point—you know what? I don't even care anymore." Santana sighed with a roll of her eyes, then made her way out of the room towards Quinn's personal living area. Quinn followed quickly in step behind her. Santana couldn't help but to notice that Quinn shut the door quietly, as to not disturb the unconscious girl in her bed.

"Sit." Santana snapped her fingers then pointed towards the nearest plush couch. "Now." She barked. "I don't have all day, Fabray."

Quinn sat carefully with narrowed eyes. "Santana, what—"

"Quinn, honey." Santana's voice was saccharine, as she knelt down to her best friend's eye level. "You're crazy."

Quinn opened her mouth to protest, but Santana placed a finger over her lips, her voice still sickeningly sweet. "Quinn. You are fucking insane."

Quinn's eyes widened.

"You're rich, I'm rich—so yeah—we're allowed to do crazy-as-shit things sometimes because we can. But this can get you sent to prison." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "And the last thing I need is the cops breathing down my family's neck because of your idiocy."

"Santana—"

"You knocked out a girl." Santana was speaking slowly to make sure her point got across.

"I told you she fell—"

"You unwillingly brought her to your home."

"Did you just expect me to leave her on the street—"

"And the girl that everyone thinks you hate is currently lying in your bed."

"Santana, you're making this sound worse than it—"

"Oh my God, please don't tell me you watched them undress her."

Quinn's face flushed as she sputtered in shock. "O-Of course not! I-I'm not—I didn't—"

A loud squeak and a thump from inside of Quinn's room interrupted their conversation. They glanced at each other nervously.

It seemed as though Rachel Berry was finally awake.

***

The first thing Rachel registered as she began to wake was the throbbing pain on her forehead and no recollection as to how she received such an injury. Her eyes were struggling to open and her mouth felt as though it was stuffed with cotton, but she struggled to sit upright regardless. She tried to ignore the pounding in her head. When did she get in bed? The last she remembered was that she was walking to the bus stop from school—

She crinkled her eyebrows as something prodded at the back of her mind, but it didn't go much further than a hunch.

She slowly blinked her eyes open. Once. Then twice, barely registering her surroundings. Her eyes slid shut once more, a bout of exhaustion seeping into her consciousness, but then suddenly her eyes snapped back open.

Rachel had realized that her surroundings were most certainly not one that she was familiar with.

Her hands gripped the comforter beneath her. This was not her bed.

Her eyes scanned the expansive room before her. This was most certainly not her room.

Rachel's heart began to beat erratically and attempted to get off of the bed, but her entire body felt like gelatin. She collapsed to the floor with a squeak the moment her feet touched the floor.

The shock from the fall seemed to jolt her from her initial alarm, but it did not ease her worry. Not one bit. Her hands rapidly moved across her body, just to make sure that she was indeed wearing clothing. But when she looked down at herself, she made a mental note that she was most certainly not wearing her school uniform. She placed her palms on the hardwood floor beneath her and used them to brace herself as she began to slowly stand up. Her legs wobbled a bit, yet overall, they retained her balance.

Rachel took in her surroundings, hoping to somehow get clued in as to the owner of this room. The first thing she noticed was that the bedroom was incredibly large. Its walls were soft gray, bathed in a soft yellow due the lights of the chandelier hanging in the center of the room. Multiple curtained windows ran side by side along one wall and sparse paintings adorned the others, along with a three seat sofa and a matching chaise. She turned around to look at the bed she had just been lying in; a large (perhaps king sized) bed sat centered against the back wall. Its comforter, a mild cream with a deep red tufted headboard, and a matching red throw.

Something about the room was distinctly feminine, though it lacked any sort of personal touch. The prodding at the back of her mind was back in full force.

Rachel spun around the center of the room, searching for an exit, until her eyes landed on a large mirror hanging against the far wall of the room.

Rachel blinked, then moved closer. Because she hardly recognized the person staring back at her.

Wincing slightly at the small bruise on her forehead she watched her hands move to her hair, beautifully parted to the left and her bangs, mysteriously absent. She touched her cheeks, slightly pink from a blush that she most certainly did not put on that morning. Her dark brown eyes seemed brighter, and her eyelashes, elongated. She touched the sparkling earrings in her ear reverently. Her eyes roved down to her dress; a gorgeous, black, spaghetti-strapped number that stopped just above her knee. And as she glanced down further, she realized that she was wearing a pair of heels. Rachel flexed her calf without thinking; they looked surprisingly good. She let eyes roam over herself once more and a hint of a smile spread over her features.

For the first time in a long time—

Rachel Berry felt beautiful.

Like the insults that people have thrown her way throughout the years no longer mattered.

Like she was untouchable.

Like—

Rachel glanced upwards and jumped in surprise when she noticed hazel eyes staring at her reflection.

"Well you look nice." Quinn's voice sounded almost mocking, but held a quality of awe that couldn't quite be hidden.

Her eyes narrowed as she spun around to meet Quinn's gaze. "Quinn what are you—" Rachel froze, her eyes widening as she recalled the events led up to her current situation. "I fell! I hit my head." Rachel pointed an accusatory finger at Quinn. "All because you wouldn't leave me alone!"

"You can't blame me for your lack of coordination. You tripped and fell. Out of kindness—" Quinn hissed out the word. "I brought you here."

Rachel blinked. "You mean," She looked around the room once more. "This is your bedroom?"

Quinn watched Rachel closely as she took a step forward. "Yes."

Rachel scrunched her eyebrows. "But why? A-And the clothes—"

"Do you like them?" Quinn interrupted and slowly began to circle the girl in front of her.

A bit thrown off by the question, Rachel answered honestly while looking down at herself. "The dress, it's quite beautiful." Quinn hummed, seemingly pleased by her answer. "But why am I wearing them? What happened to my uniform?"

"Six thousand dollars." Quinn murmured as her eyes roved almost appreciatively over Rachel's figure.

Rachel shifted her legs uncomfortably. "What?"

"Six thousand dollars." Quinn repeated, this time motioning towards the dress that Rachel was wearing. "Two thousand dollars." She continued, motioning towards Rachel's heel covered feet. "And twenty-two thousand dollars." She pointed to the diamond earrings that adorned Rachel's ears. "You're currently wearing about thirty thousand dollars worth of clothing and accessories. 

Rachel frowned. What was Quinn's angle?

"That smile on your face when I walked in? That's something I've never seen you do at Dalton." Quinn smirked smugly. "Money can't buy your happiness, right?"

Rachel visibly stiffened. So that's what this was about. But before Rachel could gather an appropriate (or not so appropriate) response, Quinn was moving until just a few inches separated them.

"I figured out the game you've been playing, Rachel."

An incredulous look crossed Rachel's features, because—what? She hardly even realized that Quinn had called her by her first name. "Quinn, what are you—"

"It's flattering that you've been trying so hard to get my attention." She continued with an arrogant shrug. "So let's compromise."

Rachel raised an uncharacteristic eyebrow.

"I'll let you talk to me outside of Dalton."

Rachel's right eye twitched dangerously.

"And if you're on your best behavior, I'll even let you greet me in the hallways at school."

Her left eye almost immediately followed.

"So no more acting out." Quinn chided her as if she were a small child. "You finally got what you wanted."

Rachel stood stock still, her hands clenched into shaking fists, and her mouth gaped open at the heiress standing self-righteously in front of her. She had no idea where to even begin when it came to Quinn's logic. She looked to the ceiling, took a deep calming breath, and then her gaze snapped back to Quinn's.

She opened her mouth to speak, but found that she had absolutely nothing intelligent to say. How does one even begin to respond to something like that? She shook her head in disbelief. Rachel tried again.

"Are you on drugs?" The words slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it. Rachel felt her headache come back in full force at her frustration. It most certainly opened the flood gates. "Were you the one that hit your head?" She stepped closer, almost nose to nose with Quinn. Well—nose to chin. "You think I've been trying to get your attention?" Despite their proximity Rachel took another step forward and smirked when Quinn had no choice but to take a step back. She ignored Quinn's darkening expression. "You'll let me talk to you?" She hissed as her voice began to rise in volume and pitch. "If I'm on my best behavior?"

Rachel held a sense of smug satisfaction when she noticed Quinn flinch at her tone. Regardless, She needed to get away from this place. As soon as possible.

"Quinn Fabray." Rachel was surprised by the sudden, eerie calm in her own voice. Quinn seemed quite shocked by it also. "Bring me my clothes. Bring me my backpack. Bring me my phone. Bring them now." Her heeled foot slammed down on the hardwood floor on the last word.

Quinn blinked. "What."

Rachel opened her mouth in order to repeat herself, but Quinn cut her off.

"You're rejecting my friendship." She sounded disbelieving.

"Quinn—"

"Are you an idiot?" Quinn suddenly growled, her demeanor shifting into a defensive one. The girl in question reared back in shock, because—Quinn calling her an idiot right now was beyond laughable. "Do you have any idea how many people would love to be in your shoes right now? Do you understand how privileged you are to be here, right now?"

"The only place I want to be right now is away from you!" Rachel stomped her way out of Quinn's bedroom door and into what looked like a living room, pausing momentarily to admire the view from the large windows that took up the expanse of a wall and part of the ceiling, then immediately looked for an exit. She spotted Santana sitting in a powder blue sofa with her legs crossed at the knee, and an amused smirk on her features, but Rachel ignored the girl when she saw a large wooden set of double doors just behind her. She immediately made her way towards it.

Quinn had just appeared outside of her own bedroom, just seconds after Rachel had stormed away. "We're not done talking yet, Berry!"

Rachel spun angrily, itching to get away from place, even if she had to leave in her underwear. "We are done speaking, Quinn. And you know what? If you really want someone to listen to you talk, just pay someone to do so! I'm sure that they would feel privileged for such an opportunity." Rachel rolled her eyes after her sarcastic outburst, then spun back around. "And for the record Quinn?" She turned her head until only her profile was showing, her tone softened.

"You cannot create friendships with money." She didn't see Quinn stiffen. Her own heavy breathing distorted her senses. "Because when your money and power is all gone, you'll find yourself a very lonely girl, Quinn."

And with those parting words, Rachel Berry disappeared through the door.

***

Rachel's dramatic exit was lost after a few moments of wandering the maze-like halls of the Fabray household. The heels that she had been wearing dangled from her fingers and her previous hair-do was haphazardly woven into a single braid and placed over her shoulder. Too busy trying to find the exit, she didn't realize that many of the staff members were giving her strange looks, and anytime she would stop to ask for directions, they would quickly scuttle away.

Strange.

It wasn't until she found herself standing in the center of an atrium that she was approached by a sunny looking woman with medium-length red hair and wide, doe-like eyes.

"Rachel Berry?" The woman questioned, though Rachel had a feeling that she knew exactly who she was.

Rachel nodded. "Yes."

The woman dipped her head in greeting. "My name is Emma Pillsbury, House Manager of Château Fabray. I was told to bring you your things."

Rachel glanced downward and noticed that the woman was holding her folded uniform with her brown penny loafers on top of them in one hand, and her bright pink backpack in the other. Rachel took them with a grateful smile. "How did you find me?" Because honestly, this house was enormous.

The woman smiled, but did not give Rachel an answer. "Would you like me to escort you to a changing room?

"Yes, please." Rachel answered before Emma could even finish the sentence, not worried in the least that her question was ignored. She just wanted to go home. " I would appreciate that very much."

The House Manager smiled warmly as she began to lead Rachel out into the hallway.

"And also, if you could show me to an exit afterwards, if you don't mind?"

"Of course Miss Berry. A person could starve to death getting lost in these halls."

Rachel frowned at the back Emma's head, simply because she couldn't quite tell whether or not she was joking.

***

Santana was waiting for her outside at the base of the front entrance stairs, casually leaned against a shiny, crimson car. Rachel couldn't tell the model if she tried, but she did vaguely recognize the four silver rings that sat proudly on its hood. Santana then opened the passenger side door, and looked at Rachel expectantly.

When Rachel only continued to stare, Santana rolled her eyes so hard that Rachel was afraid they were going to get stuck. "Get in, short-stack. I don't have all day."

Rachel shook her head. "I don't need—I-I mean, I'm going to call a friend, so—"

"I'm not nearly as nice as Q, Berry." Rachel gulped when Santana interrupted her rambling with narrowed eyes. "I won't wait until you knock yourself out before I drag you by the hair into my car." She took a threatening step forward. "Now, get in, before I make you."

Rachel was shakily snapping her seatbelt over her chest just a few sparse seconds later.

God, Santana was scary.

It wasn't long before Santana had started up her car, sped around the large fountain in the center of the circular driveway and towards a rather intimidating wrought iron gate. As they waited for the gate to open, Rachel chanced a glance at Quinn's home behind her.

And her jaw dropped at the sight.

It was an enormous tan building that was at least four stories tall, with beautiful arches and columns and trees and—Rachel could fit ten of her own homes into Quinn's.

She wasn't pouting.

"This is just one of their homes." Santana's voice startled her, realizing that she could most likely read her expression. They sped out onto street. "Those obnoxious pricks."

Rachel didn't know how to respond to that, so she just kept quiet.

"Where do you live?" Santana huffed out, tapping her well-manicured fingers against the steering wheel.

"In the Olde Town district." She glanced at Santana's profile and somehow, she was even more gorgeous up close. "I'm sorry, if I knew where we were I could give better directions but...we can use the GPS on my phone—"

Santana shrugged her shoulders. "We'll figure it out as we get closer. I know where that district is, though." And that was the end of their conversation. She moved to fiddle with the radio, occasionally stopping to shift gears. The only time she and Rachel interacted with each other was when Rachel gave brief instructions of which streets to turn onto as they moved into recognizable territory.

They finally pulled to a stop in front of Rachel's home when the sun had finally set. Rachel fiddled with her backpack strap between her knees and Santana was staring at her fingernails.

"Well, It's not a complete dump." Was how Santana so gracefully broke the silence. "I expected the slums."

Rachel huffed, but didn't want to say anything to anger the brunette, so she moved her hand towards the door handle. "Well…thank you for the ride." She said almost hesitantly. "I appreciate your kindness—"

"Berry." Santana's brown eyes seemed to glow in the growing darkness. Rachel halted immediately. "Sit down, and shut up. Aunty 'Tana is about to teach you a very important lesson."

Rachel crinkled her eyebrows, because—what did Santana just refer to herself as?

"Nothing is for free."

Rachel's focus was back on the conversation. "I'm sorry, what?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "I didn't bring you home just to be nice. Now, you're indebted to me." She finished with a shrug.

Rachel sputtered. "B-But you forced me to get in the car!"

"You chose to think that my threat was legitimate." She fired right back.

Rachel opened her mouth, but found that she had nothing to retort back with. Santana was actually right. "But—"

"You owe me a favor." Santana held up her hand to silence her. "I can collect it whenever I see fit."

Rachel sunk into the leather seat, her heart sinking in trepidation. How did she get herself into these situations?

"And another thing."

"What now?"

Santana looked as if she were debating whether or not to call Rachel out on her attitude, but it seemed as though she decided to let it go.

"Today's events never happened." Santana's voice was dangerously low.

"What?"

"You heard me, Mini-Me."

"And what if I say they did?" Rachel tested.

"Then I'd have to find a way to make you forget it." Santana's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'm known to be creative when I want to be."

Rachel gulped. "I-Is this your favor?"

"No. This is a legitimate threat." Santana hissed. "I swear to God, Berry. If I hear those trolls at Dalton gossiping about this on Monday…"

Rachel didn't want to hear the end of that threat.

The car was silent for moment.

"Not that it's any of your business," Santana started as she stared blankly ahead. "But I'm looking out for Quinn." She gripped her steering wheel tightly. "Because no one else will."

Rachel gazed at Santana with a questioning look on her features, but kept silent. Suddenly, Santana's eyes blinked, and then hardened.

"Now get outs my car, hobbit. I have shit I need to do, and places I need to be."

Rachel wasted no time in getting out of the car, and without so much as a goodbye, Santana sped off along the street, and then whipped around the corner out of sight. She sighed as she stared up at her unlit home.

Such a wonderful start to her weekend.


	7. Dinner Interlude

Sam Evans hated Fabray family dinners.

He hated the dress ties.

He hated the too-tight Italian crafted dress shoes.

But what he hated the most was the formality of eating dinner with the great and powerful Judy Fabray, president and largest share holder to the untouchable, Fabray Enterprises. Though he was certain that eating dinner with an aunt should not be such a grand affair.

It was Sunday evening, his time to relax and unwind in the privacy of his own room after a long flight. Yet here he was, dressed in a tailored dark gray suit and crisp black button up. His usual unruly, blond, hair was cut and trimmed to a more presentable state and reverted to its normal chestnut hue.

Sam looked nothing like the unkempt boy in his day to day life at Dalton Academy.

By the time he pulled through Château Fabray's wrought-iron gate and up to its large front doors, Emma Pillsbury—The esteemed house manager of the Fabray estate—was waiting outside to meet him.

"Mr. Evans." She greeted cheerfully with a respectful nod.

"Ms. Pillsbury." Sam allowed a half smile to grace his features. He has had a soft spot for Emma Pillsbury since he was a child.

"I trust all went well with your trip to Europe?" She began to lead him through the front doors into the large foyer, heels clacking against the marble. Her thumb was moving rapidly against the screen of a smart phone in one hand, and a small clipboard was held tightly in the other.

Sam shrugged his shoulders though Ms. Pillsbury wasn't looking in his direction. "As well as it could be." Which was true. After his parents lost nearly all of their money on investments in the US, they sought out to earn back their former glory in the overseas market. Hence his living situation at the Fabray Mansion. He had flown to Europe to visit his family as a six month check in, and to also get away from the oppressively cold environment of the Fabray household. "Mom knows I hate this stuff, but she bought me new gold cuff links anyway." He held up his wrists until he received an impressed nod.

"So your family is doing just fine, then." 

Sam nodded in response. They have certainly seen worse days.

"Quinn is already seated." Ms. Pillsbury stated as she stopped to inspect a particularly dull spot on one of the many shiny doorknobs in the household. She shifted the clipboard into under her arm until she could wrestle a handkerchief from her breast pocket, and vigorously shined the spot until its surface was flawless. "President Fabray will be arriving shortly." Sam watched as she hummed in satisfaction and continued to lead him through the parlor and into the personal dining room. "Though I have to warn you, Quinn is in quite the sour mood."

Sam huffed. "Worse than usual?"

Miss Pillsbury leaned to whisper conspiratorially. "Let's just say, half of the staff's services will no longer be needed in the Fabray household."

He winced in sympathy for the staff, most likely fired on a whim.

As the familiar room came in to sight, so did Quinn's frowning features. She was sitting at the end of a large, rectangular, dining table. Posture stiff, eyes hard, and arms crossed, Quinn looked every bit of the heiress that she was meant to be. She didn't even bother to greet Sam nor the house manager as they entered the room. Ms. Pillsbury nodded her head briefly before excusing herself, and suddenly Sam was alone.

He eyed her carefully until he was seated dead center and to the left Quinn. He raised an eyebrow.

"Why thank you, Quinn. My trip to Europe was exceptional." Sam began. Quinn scoffed, but still refused to speak. "Besides a bit of turbulence, the flight was awesome."

Quinn's upper lip twitched in annoyance.

"And my parents? Your Aunt and Uncle. They're doing great. Thanks for asking."

He watched as Quinn rolled her eyes and focused her gaze on the nearest painting.

Sam sighed. Even though he and his cousin had been living together for months, they had never quite…bonded. Their lives were completely separate. Quinn and her F3; Sam and his guitar. Their living spaces were on two completely opposite wings of the mansion, so their interaction was quite minimal regardless.

Multiple servers suddenly swept into the room, setting down three sets of fine china, silverware and water goblets.

It seemed that Judy Fabray was here.

Ms. Pillsbury stepped into the room and confirmed their speculation. "President Fabray has just arrived. Dinner will begin shortly."

Both Quinn and Sam were on their feet immediately, hands clasped behind their backs. Quinn's features neutralized from the frown on her face just moments before, but her posture was rigid, and Sam could see her fingers flexing behind her back from where he was standing. Quinn was always in a poor mood the rare moments that her mother was home, but based on her mannerisms, that wasn't the only thing that seemed to bothering her.

And then Judy Fabray swept into the room with three suited assistants hot on her heels; her presence, much larger than her petite figure. She was dressed head to toe in the finest clothes, a red blazer and pencil skirt combo, black heels, expensive fur, and diamond earrings. Her blonde hair was swept up into a strict bun.

She looked like every bit of the business shark that she was known to be.

Sam inclined his head in her direction as she settled at the head of the table, the nearest assistant removing the fur from her shoulders. "Aunt Judy." He said respectfully.

Hard-as-steel hazel eyes flicked to his green ones as an insincere smile crossed her features. "Sam. I trust your trip to Europe went well." Her tone was cordial, but lacked warmth.

"It did. My parents, once again, send you their thanks."

Judy dismissed the gratitude with a flick of her wrist. "How is my sister doing by the way?" Sam suppressed the frown at the lack mention about his father or his younger siblings. "Still in Stockholm, I assume."

She didn't wait for his answer, instead her eyes moved up the length of the table until she met a matching pair. "Quinn." It didn't seem to matter in the least that it had been weeks since they had last seen each other face to face.

"Mother." Quinn's tone was formal, respectful even, but held a sense of underlying bitterness. "It's been three weeks. I assume your business trip to Budapest went well."

Judy diverted. "And I assume your studies have been up to par."

Sam watched Quinn's fists clench behind her back. "Top of my class."

"I expected no less." Judy reached for her now-filled water goblet. Quinn and Sam took that as their cue to take their seats, placing their table napkins in their laps in the process. At this point the servers began to bring out the course.

"Avez-vous été tenue avec vos leçons de français, Quinn?" Quinn stiffened as her mother addressed her in French. Sam scrunched his eyebrows attempting to translate the few words he actually knew. Something about French classes—

"Oui, ma mère. Bien que le tuteur m'a dit maintes et maintes fois que je suiscompétent dans la langue." Quinn fired back in a defensive tone. Sam awkwardly scratched the back of his neck. What is this about Quinn's tutor?

Judy Fabray's gaze hardened, though her outward features did not change in the slightest. It was extremely intimidating, not-unlike the look she took on when closing a hard-fought business deal.

"Well, I think your accent is still lacking." Judy reverted back to English and began to cut delicately into the veal on her plate. "And there is always room for improvement." Quinn looked thoroughly chastised.

It was ten minutes of eating in uncomfortable silence until Judy gently placed the knife and fork down on her plate, her food only half eaten.

"Emma." Judy called the house manager without raising her voice a single decibel above her normal speaking voice. Miss Pillsbury materialized immediately.

"Yes, President Fabray."

"Bring me the chef."

"Right away, President Fabray."

Sam kept his eyes on the plate, occasional glancing at Quinn. She was chewing her food slowly while looking at her mother, a thoughtful look crossing her features. When the chef finally arrived by Judy's side, he removed his toque and bowed at the waist respectfully.

"Madame Fabray. I hope that you are enjoying your food."

Judy didn't respond to this. Instead, she took a dainty sip from her water goblet. The chef continued to look at her expectantly.

"You're fired."

Sam—who had been taking a bite of his asparagus—choked abruptly. Quinn's eyes narrowed as she watched the scene unfold in front of her. The chef could only stare at the woman in front of him in shock, but Judy dismissed him with a wave of her hand. The chef didn't—Sam figured he couldn't —move.

"But Madame—"

"Emma." The red-headed woman was once again appeared by Judy's side. "Please escort the chef off of the premises."

Ms. Pillsbury looked at the chef with sympathy as she placed a gentle hand on his upper arm. "If you would please—"

The chef immediately ripped his arm out of her grasp. "I can escort myself out, thank you." He snarled, then stormed towards the doors while muttering under his breath. Miss Pillsbury sent a nod towards the burly security guards hovering just outside the dining room's double doors. Its meaning was clear: "Don't let him destroy anything on the way out."

She turned back to her employer. "Is there anything else, President Fabray?" Her voice still held its melodic calm, as if she had become immune to witnessing such events.

Judy took another sip of water. "Acquire a new chef." Miss Pillsbury scribbled the note on her clipboard. "Someone that can prepare a proper veal."

Sam looked down to his plate. He thought his food tasted just fine.

Judy abruptly stood from her seat. "If you would excuse me, I have a number of phone calls to take in my study." She looked in Sam's direction. "Sam. It is always a pleasure." He nodded silently. Her eyes noticeably hardened when her gaze landed on her daughter's. "Quinn."

And then Judy Fabray swept from the room, her assistants once again on her heels.

An awkward beat passed before Quinn slammed her fork on the table with an irritated growl and stormed out of the room. The servers began to clear the table, but as they attempted to remove his plate of unfinished veal, he gripped onto the plate tightly.

Because damn it, he wanted to finish his food. The server moved on.

Sam sighed heavily as he began to cut slowly into his meal.

This was exactly why he hated family dinners.

***

Sunday night was board game night in the Berry household.

The pick of the week: Pictionary.

"A car! No—no a bird!"

"It's a toucan, daddy! Wait a toucan sitting in tree!"

"A toucan with a crooked nose, sitting in a tree!" Hiram snapped his fingers next to her, watching Leroy draw frantically on the whiteboard in front of him. "Uh—oh, oh! Owen Wilson!" But when his husband only continued to draw, he frowned.

"Oh! I know!" Rachel stood on her socked feet and shouted as she noticed her dad drawing what looked like flowing robes. "Alan Rickman as Professor Snape, Harry Potter!"

"Ding, ding, ding!" Leroy clapped as he watched his husband and daughter embrace after their victory. They had just beat their very own record.

The family, as every Sunday night, was currently sitting on the living room floor, with Chinese takeout containers on the coffee table in front of them and the now cleaned up Pictionary game in its center. Usually after a rather competitive board game session, The Berry's would all take turns talking jovially about their weeks, while eating steadily from their take-out box of choice.

"—And Mr. Clint has continued to tell me that he was going to sue me for taking down his pants too many sizes. What he doesn't realize is that he's been packing on pounds since the day he stepped into our store three years ago!"

Leroy laughed. "Oh that's nothing. Old Mrs. Wingle down the street has still been trying to set me up with her daughter. I've been telling her that I've been openly gay for years."

"And taken, I hope?" Hiram winked in his direction.

"And taken." Leroy confirmed with a small smile. "She keeps telling me, 'It's a phase, young man.'" Everyone laughed at this.

"I told her, I'm forty-seven, married to a gorgeous man, and raising a beautiful and talented daughter." Rachel smiled prettily at this. "I'm pretty certain that this isn't just a phase."

Rachel glanced down at her food respectfully as Leroy and Hiram leaned across the table to peck each other on the lips.

"What about you, honey?" Rachel looked up only to see her parents staring at her expectantly. "How's school?"

The question itself was actually innocent, but she couldn't quite help the racing of her heart because—where does one even begin when it come to the events that have occurred during her time at Dalton?

How does one tell her parents she hated waking up to go to school in the morning?

That she was almost immediately ostracized because of her social standing?

That she was dumped in manure, slushied, egged, and attacked based on the whims of spoiled bully?

That she was technically kidnapped and manipulated by the very same bully that she wanted nothing to do with?

Rachel couldn't say all these things, so instead, she smiled wide. "It's fine." Though she couldn't help but to look down at her takeout in guilt.

Of course, her parents caught this.

"Rachel?" She shook her head as she poked a piece of broccoli with her chopsticks. She couldn't look at them right now.

"Talk to us, hon."

Rachel popped the piece of broccoli in her mouth and began to chew slowly as she thought about what she was going to tell her parents. They already knew that something was wrong; that was a given, since Rachel was absolutely terrible at hiding her true emotions. "I just—" She swallowed "I really miss McKinley." Which wasn't exactly a lie, but still couldn't help but to let out a small sigh in relief when a look of understanding crossed her fathers' features.

"Rachel." Leroy scooted until he was within hugging distance. "I understand that it was a big change."

"And a fast one." Hiram hummed across the table.

"But think of the opportunities Dalton could bring you, especially when the time comes that you have to apply for colleges."

"Even though sometimes change is hard, it usually works out for the best." Hiram winked. "take this advice from a gay man who spent twenty-five years in the closet."

"And who knows? You just might meet your soul mate."

Rachel nearly choked on her food at the thought. She had no intention to ever end up falling in love with anyone at Dalton Academy. Her parents laughed at her reaction, though eventually their demeanor grew more serious.

"You have seemed a bit down lately." Leroy started, glancing at his husband for silent affirmation then back to his daughter. "We haven't really heard you sing in weeks."

Rachel's shoulders slumped—she really hadn't been able to sing, to be honest. Every time she walked into the choir room, she was reminded of everything the F3 had done to her. She couldn't bring herself to channel those emotions through song.  
"I guess I just—" Rachel sighed. "I miss the glee club at McKinley." She initially meant to say this as an excuse, but was honestly surprised when she found that she wasn't really lying. She did actually miss the experience of being part of a team. She missed the competition. She missed the long rehearsals. She missed the exhaustion that came with working hard towards her goals. She—

She really missed the glee club.

Hiram tapped his chin in thought. "Well, does Dalton have a glee club, or any show choir for that matter?"

Rachel shook her head. "No, they—" Actually, she really didn't know, But the gears began to turn in her head. "I'm actually not sure."

"If they did, would you be a part of it?"

'Hell yes!' Rachel celebrated inwardly. Outwardly she shrugged nonchalantly while hiding a smile behind her half eaten takeout box. "Maybe."

Leroy, almost sensing the thoughts running through his daughter's head. Continued after his husband. "Well, if they don't have one…"

"…Maybe you should start one." Hiram finished.

Rachel's eyes widened. Partially out of excitement, partially in shock that she hadn't thought of that fantastic idea herself.

She launched herself off of the floor, already murmuring to herself about lists, and budgets, and promotions and—

Rachel missed the knowing looks her parents shot each other from across the table, not that she would care otherwise.

Because Dalton Academy was going to get its very first glee club.

Maybe.


	8. Glee!

"This is destiny, Kurt. I can feel it." Rachel, standing so close to the Dalton's public postings board that her eyes crossed, stated to Kurt excitedly. She was bouncing on the balls of her feet with an expectant look on her features.

" **'A student council open forum tomorrow,'** " Rachel began to read out loud from the particular flyer that held her attention. " **'Share your new ideas and let yourself be heard!'** Kurt—" She spun around to face the confused looking boy standing behind her. "This is perfect!"

Kurt could only nod silently in response. He was already walking on thin ice with Rachel, so he opted out of commenting on the maniacal gleam in her eyes. "So, remind me why this is so perfect again?"

Rachel clutched her school books firmly to her chest as a genuine smile crossed her features. "To propose a glee club, of course!"

Kurt blinked. "Well, of course." Though secretly thrilled by the idea, he couldn't help but to think that it wouldn't be as successful as Rachel hoped.

"If this isn't the Matador of Fate waving its red flag in front of me, I don't know what is." Kurt quirked an eyebrow at Rachel's dramatic words. "Though I detest the sport of inciting an innocent animal to the point of irreversible rage, the metaphor is quite accurate." Rachel stopped walking to turn to Kurt with an odd amount of seriousness. "And metaphors are important, you know."

Kurt chuckled until the first sound of squealing students filtered from the main entrance. Both he and Rachel froze; there was only one group of people in Dalton that could illicit such a reaction.

F3 had just arrived on campus.

The two students could have continued up the stairs, ignoring the spectacle just a few steps below them, but even they couldn't resist the urge to watch the trio with a grudging amount of respect for their dramatic presence, at least in Rachel's case. Kurt was still disturbingly both enamored and terrified by them. They both turned to watch the entrance doors.

Santana and Brittany, as usual, strolled in first, with their hair in matching ponytails, pinkies linked, and seemingly oblivious to their surroundings. Then Quinn strutted in past them with flowing golden hair and enough confidence ("Arrogance." Rachel huffed under her breath) to reduce the entire school into a blubbering mass of low self-esteem. All three members, of course, were somehow excused from wearing the school issued uniform, so their clothing was just as expensive and stylish as ever.

Rachel was ready to continue her path up the stairs until suddenly, Quinn's hazel eyes met Rachel's brown ones, as an unreadable expression crossed the F3 leader's otherwise neutral features.

Rachel felt the familiar shiver in her spine.

Seeing their beloved F3 leader looking in the direction of the main staircase, the majority of the student body's eyes swiveled to the pair standing on the steps. Rachel heard Kurt's breath hitch, but silently commended him when he did not move away from her as she thought he would.

Quinn moved to take a step forward, which caused Rachel to tighten her grip on her books. Quinn zeroed in on this action, of course, and with a flash of—Rachel couldn't quite place it; a mild form of discontent, perhaps— Quinn made an immediate left turn without a falter in her step, their gaze breaking as quickly as it had begun. Santana raised a threatening eyebrow, and Brittany gave an almost unnoticeable wink as they fell into step behind Quinn and disappeared down the hallway.

The crowd, already bored without the distracting presence of the F3, dispersed through various hallways and staircases. Rachel and Kurt, however, did not move. They could not move.

Kurt broke the silence first, staring wide-eyed at Rachel's frozen form. "W-What was that?"

"I don't—" Rachel shook her head to clear her thoughts. What was that? Santana and Brittany's looks she could understand, but Quinn's…

To be honest she had expected a major backlash in the form a another Red Card for her harsh words to Quinn in Château Fabray, even though she very well deserved it. But Quinn's strange glance seemed like a rather subdued in comparison. She couldn't quite explain to Kurt what had just happened without completely giving away the events of last Friday. Santana's very real threat still hung heavy in her mind. So she nervously attempted to brush it off as she began to make her way up the stairs once more."What was what?"

Kurt's keen eyes could spot gossip-worthy deceit from a mile away, so he quickly followed her. "The looks! From the F3!"

Rachel shrugged, attempting to come across as nonchalantly as possible even though her mind was racing. "I'm sure that it was nothing important."

"Not important!" Kurt was talking so quickly that he practically squealed in excitement. "Santana glares at everyone, so that's nothing new. And Brittany…" Kurt brushed off the third member's behavior with a wave of his hand. "But I don't think I've even seen Quinn look at anyone—"

"Kurt," Rachel paused when she reached the top of the of the staircase, Kurt was just a step behind her. "Can we stop talking about it please? I really don't think it's that big of a deal. And to be honest, even if it was, I wouldn't feel comfortable talking to you about it. Not yet."

Kurt sighed with a slump of his shoulders. Rachel was absolutely right. They were still in the process of tentatively rebuilding their friendship, and his need for the school's latest gossip would have to wait. He would respect that.

"Besides," Rachel started more brightly as she made her way towards the Sciences hallway. "There are much more important things to discuss."

Kurt rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "Like the glee club proposal?"

"Indeed. There is so much I need to do for preparation! A cross referenced list of potential musically inclined members that attend this school, a color coded budget, a PowerPoint presentation of the thoroughly researched benefits of having a show choir—"

"Whoa there, Rachel." Kurt huffed out, already seeing Rachel get ahead of herself. "Maybe you should think less about the content of your presentation and more about exactly who you're presenting it to."

Rachel blinked questioningly. "What do you mean?"

Kurt shot her a knowing look as he opened up the door to their shared chemistry class.

It wasn't until Rachel had settled into her seat at the front of the classroom with her books stacked neatly on her desk when she gasped loudly and spun around in her seat to stare at Kurt with wide eyes.

"No…"

Kurt nodded his head silently as the instructor made his way into the classroom. Rachel slowly spun back around in her chair, fighting the sudden urge to repeatedly bang her head against the desk.

If she had to get the approval for the new glee club from whom she thought—Rachel dragged her fingers through her hair, a nervous habit she had developed to originally stave off stage fright when she was much younger.

The club was most likely never going to exist.

***

Brittany S. Pierce was the student body president.

Rachel wasn't sure to feel surprised about this or relieved. In a way, she should have seen this coming. But to be honest, she had been preparing her presentation for the open-forum student council meeting that Tuesday afternoon with Quinn Fabray in mind.

She imagined the her sneering down at her in disdain at the mere mention of starting an official Dalton Academy glee club. She expected a heated debate, with Quinn losing her well-practiced cool. She expected to even resort to blackmail if the situation called for it. The very real threat of Rachel going public with Quinn's past offences was a fear that the F3 leader couldn't quite shake, and she knew it.

She was willing to go there.

Because Rachel Berry needed the glee club in her life again, damn it. And she was willing to do whatever it took to get it.

But instead of staring into the haughty hazel eyes of one Quinn Fabray, she was staring at Brittany, an adorable tilt to her head and questions in her big blue eyes. She was sitting cross-legged in a throne-like chair at the head of the conference table. Her casual posture did not seem to match with her position of power.

Quinn was nowhere in sight.

"A glee club?"

Rachel sputtered; still a bit bewildered at the fact that Brittany S. Pierce was the student body president. "Y-Yes. It's technically a show choir of sorts."

"Well that sounds fucking lame." Santana—apparently the student body treasurer—was sitting with her legs crossed on a similarly throne-like chair next to Brittany. "There's a reason why we don't already have one, Muppet."

The other students sitting at the sides of the table, also waiting on their turn for club proposals, followed Santana's lead and scoffed at the idea. Both Rachel and Brittany ignored this.

"So it's like a singing club." Brittany's head tilted in the other direction. Rachel squashed the urge to scratch the president behind her ears. Especially because she had a feeling that Santana would rip her to shreds if she tried.

"Like a singing club." Rachel confirmed. "We would compete against other schools within our region and—"

"So you can sing?" Brittany interrupted brightly.

"Since the day I was born." Rachel responded without missing a beat.

Brittany nodded and began to scribble on the bright green notepad in front of her. Rachel had to wonder just what she was writing. "You know Santana can sing too." Rachel gulped as Santana glowered. "She just doesn't like to admit it since I caught her singing Hakuna Matata in the—"

"Do you have a budget planned, Dwarf?" Santana interrupted almost nervously. Rachel hid her smile of amusement as she pulled a white folder from her bag.

"Of course. And I would really appreciate it if you called me by my name." Rachel self-consciously brushed her hands against her uniform skirt as Santana snatched the folder from her grip. "I was prepared to show you a presentation, but when I realized that there was no projector in this room I decided to put my qualifications on a handout—color coded based on relevance—also within the folder. As you can see, I was the former glee club captain at William McKinley High School and led the choir to Regionals our very first year…" Rachel trailed off when she noticed a bored looking Santana, toss the folder onto the table without a second glance.

The very same folder that she had stayed up well into the hours of the morning to complete.

"Your input is appreciated and we will review your budget and proposal without bias." Rachel scoffed as Santana robotically rattled off the well-worn statement. 'Without bias—right.' Rachel internally rolled her eyes. "We will contact you within the next few days regarding our final decision. Final, being the key word." She finished as she pointedly observed her nails.

"But—" Rachel looked towards Brittany, desperately asking for more time to present, but the blue-eyed girl merely shrugged apologetically.

"Sorry Rachel. We just have a lot of other proposals to get through today. And we haven't even begun to talk about the Senior class trip—"

"She doesn't need an explanation, Britt."

Brittany sighed. "We'll let you know our decision soon."

"Next victim!" Santana snapped her fingers impatiently, shooing Rachel from the room.

Rachel gathered her things slowly with her head held high, but the moment she passed the doors of the conference room, her shoulders slumped. She had a feeling that this wasn't going to work out in her favor.

***

The next afternoon, Rachel and Kurt stared down at the white folder sitting innocently on the courtyard table. Kurt didn't seem to be surprised at the turn of events. Rachel, however, was absolutely furious.

"Denied?" Rachel rubbed her eyes to make sure that she was truly seeing the large red letters stamped across the cover. "Denied!" She repeated much louder and then suddenly whirled in her seat towards the boy fidgeting in his wheelchair beside her.

"I'm sorry you're upset, b-but I'm honestly only the messenger—"

"What's your name." Rachel all but demanded. Kurt was watching the scene unfold with interest as he perched his chin on his palm.

"A-Artie." The boy habitually adjusted his glasses. "Artie Abrams."

"Well, Mr. Artie, I absolutely refuse to take this as my answer. Fix it." She grabbed the folder and shook it in and out of his vision until he tentatively took it from her hand. He then gently placed it back onto the table.

"It's not my answer to fix."

"But my proposal was perfect." Rachel turned to hiss at Kurt. "I know it was. They must have—" Rachel's eyes darted about the courtyard in thought. Artie, unused to Rachel's intensity, began to slowly wheel himself backwards. Hopefully out of sight. "Santana must have done this on purpose." Rachel stood from her seat to slam her palms on the table, startling Kurt and halting Artie in his tracks. "She hates me almost as much as Quinn does."

"Rachel, I hope you're not thinking about—" Kurt started.

"I'm going to go have a word with Santana." Rachel's voice lowered dangerously, and with a flip of her skirt, began to storm in the direction of the cafeteria. Artie, who finally snapped out of his shock, pumped his arms to wheel himself as quickly as possible to catch up with Rachel. Kurt wasn't far behind.

"I don't think this is a good idea." Artie huffed, now pacing himself beside Rachel.

"I agree." Kurt breathed out. "Crossing Quinn is dangerous, but in Satan's—I mean in Santana's case, she will hurt you."

Artie nodded his head in agreement, though Rachel couldn't see him, as her vision was set determinedly in front of her as they passed through the entrance double doors. "I heard she keeps razor blades in her hair." Kurt nodded enthusiastically as Artie continued with an unusual amount of southern twang added to his speech. "She'll cut a bitch."

Rachel froze at the foot of the F3 lounge stairway because that particular bit of gossip didn't seem that far off from the truth. She had to physically shake off the vision of a very cartoon-like Santana throwing box cutters in her direction like throwing stars, a maniacal glint her eyes as an equally-as-cartoon-like Rachel cowered pitifully against a wall.

"If—" Rachel's voice cracked embarrassingly. She continued more steadily. "If I feel that this proposal has been rejected unfairly, I will state it. I have a right to."

"Yes, but—" Kurt began. But Rachel Berry was already climbing the stairs in a determined stomp. Artie and Kurt glanced at one another.

"Are you going to follow her?" Kurt asked Artie after a moment of fidgeting with his tie.

Artie stared up at him with a dumbfounded expression. "Stairs." He motioned to the staircase in front of him. "Wheelchair." He motioned to himself. "Frankly, I wouldn't even if I could." And with those words Artie rolled himself back into the cafeteria, lightly humming a familiar tune. Quite skillfully, Kurt had to admit.

Kurt cleared his throat and adjusted his blazer nervously, staring dreadfully at the staircase.

***

Brittany heard Rachel long before she saw her.

And Brittany knew the exact reason for her unexpected visit. She looked towards Santana, poking disinterestedly at her salad, then Quinn, sitting in the far corner of the room flipping almost lazily through a well-worn novel. It seemed as though they weren't aware of the oncoming confrontation.

Pretending to be oblivious, Brittany began to lightly doodle on the lime green notepad in her lap, giving the opportunity for Rachel to initiate the conversation when she arrived. Rachel needed to feel in control of the situation in order for her to see this rationally. It was a simple business tactic, really. Something that both Quinn and Santana had taught her, but never felt the need to implement.

They knew that being intimidating was a lot more effective.

So of course, Brittany pretended to be a bit surprised by the stern "Good afternoon," that sounded from the lounge's entrance.

Santana jerked around in her seat from her lackluster meal, eyes brightening at the idea of a possible argument. Quinn peeked just over the cover of her book, but then rolled her eyes, and returned to its familiar pages.

"Hi Rachel." Brittany said brightly, remembering to cock her head slightly when she inquired, "What can we do for you?"

Rachel tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind her ear, obviously unnerved by the cordial greeting. She glanced around the room in wonderment, most likely admiring the spaciousness and grandeur of the lounge. It was her first time in there, after all.

Brittany watched as Rachel's eyes skittered almost nervously over Santana's smirking features, lingered over Quinn's stoic form, and then finally landed on Brittany's own questioning gaze. Her shoulders set back immediately.

"I'm here to discuss the denial of my glee club proposal."

Santana huffed as she turned to face Rachel fully, her salad long forgotten. "Our answer is final. I thought I made that clear."

Brittany shrugged apologetically, nodding in agreement. "I'm sorry, but Santana is right."

"But I must inquire as to why it was denied!"

Santana snorted."First off, who the hell talks like that? And second, Brittany doesn't have to tell you anything."

Brittany shot a piercing look in Santana's direction. "You most definitely need to know why, Rachel." Santana quieted down almost immediately. Brittany motioned towards the plush chair directly across from her. Rachel smoothed her skirt down before sitting on the very edge of her seat.

She looked ready to bolt at any moment.

"To start things off, Rachel, you didn't have a faculty sponsor."

Rachel opened her mouth to protest against Brittany's words, but then realized that it was actually an important detail that she had overlooked.

"And let's say you actually did have a sponsor," Santana continued with a sneer. "No one actually gives two shits about a singing club."

Rachel looked absolutely appalled at the thought. Brittany caught on to this and shot another pointed look in Santana's direction, then sent a curious glance towards Quinn, who's eyes had been set on the same page of her novel since Rachel had appeared.

Odd.

Brittany returned her gaze to Rachel. "What Santana is trying to say, is that this club probably wouldn't be as popular here at Dalton, as it was maybe at McKinley. And for you to get funding for it, you would need to make it worth the money."

"Nothing is for free, Berry." Santana smirked knowingly. And judging by Rachel's slight flinch from the words, Brittany had the distinct feeling that Rachel had heard this before. She would need to ask Santana about that later. "If you expected to get this club without understanding that, then that sucks for you."

Rachel's eyes darted around the room, the gears turning rapidly in her mind. "S-So if I get a sponsor, and get members—"

"Stop right there," Santana interrupted. "You got our answer already."

"But—"

"The deadline to submit funding requests to the Board is this evening." Brittany looked apologetic when she said this. She watched Rachel's shoulder's sag in defeat.

"If I may intervene." A new voice sounded from the entrance of the lounge. Rachel looked up, and her eyes widened in surprise.

Kurt had never looked more nervous in his life.

"You're Burt Hummel's kid." Santana stated, familiar. "Finn Hudson's step-brother." Kurt nodded at the acknowledgment.

"His dad totally customized San's sports car." Brittany felt the need to explain to Rachel softly, then added as second-thought. "Way before Finn Hudson almost fell off the roof, though. You saved him, remember?" Rachel looked as if she wanted to respond but Kurt began to speak.

"I would personally favor the idea of a glee club." Kurt shrugged. "While, the Polo, Sailing, and Crew clubs are…appealing, and quite prestigious, I admit that there's hardly a club already formed here at Dalton that gives appreciation to the arts."

Santana stood and moved closer to Brittany, Rachel, and Kurt, who looked like he was ready to bolt the moment Santana got up from her seat. "Stop wasting my time and get to the point, Tinkerbell."

Kurt cleared his throat. "W-Well, what if I suggested that Rachel and I raise the funds ourselves? My understanding is that the funding is the biggest issue."

Rachel who had been uncharacteristically quiet, gasped at the suggestion, most likely because she hadn't come up with the idea herself.

Brittany shrugged. "If that's the case, then why does the school need to be involved at all? Just make it unofficial."

"But in order to compete, we need to at least be a part of the official school club roster." Rachel finally joined in to the discussion, the rules and regulations of competitive show choir coming back to her. Kurt nodded in agreement.

Brittany's gaze met Santana's in a silent form of communication, before moving back to Rachel's.

"So if we came up with all the aforementioned above, can we make this club possible?" Rachel tried not to fidget as Santana leveled a glare at her for a few agonizingly slow moments before breaking out into a dangerous smirk.

"Sure, Short-Stack." Santana shrugged casually, her form, strangely relaxed. But then again, so was a snake before it struck a deadly blow to its prey.

"W-What?" Rachel stuttered, shocked that Santana seemed to relent without much difficulty. Brittany wasn't so easily fooled, And judging by the way Quinn's grip tightened around her book from the corner of Brittany's eye, she knew this as well. Santana was merely humoring Rachel, and didn't expect her to succeed. "Find the money, find the members, find the faculty sponsor, and oh—I don't know—win a competition, and we'll make your little gay club permanent starting next semester. Consider this a trial run."

"Glee club." Rachel absently corrected. It wasn't the first time she had heard such a play on words.

Santana rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

Rachel's features brightened as she looked towards Kurt. "That shouldn't be a problem."

Kurt nodded in Rachel's direction. "That history teacher, Mr. Ryerson, loves me. He would be more than happy to—"

"But," Santana interrupted. Rachel snapped around to look back at Santana. The snake struck with deadly precision. "Here's the catch, Berry. You're responsible for the club, so you have to get the faculty sponsor, you have to recruit the members, and you have to come up with the money." Santana nodded towards Kurt. "And that means you can't just write her a check, Porcelain. I know you're loaded."

Kurt looked scandalized by his latest nickname.

"How much will I have to raise?"

Santana smirked as she silently requested the green notepad and pen from Brittany. She scribbled on its surface for a moment before ripping off the top sheet and placing it in Rachel's outstretched hand.

Her eyes widened in shock as she jumped up from her seat. "There's no way I can get these fees to you every month!"

Brittany and Santana looked at each other with raised eyebrows. Kurt peered over her shoulder at the amount written on the paper. He sniffed, completely unfazed by the amount.

No one in the room noticed Quinn just barely peeking over the cover of her book.

"How do you expect me to be able to—"

Santana held up her hand to silence her. "Your problem, not mine. Hold up a fucking bank for all I care. If you want the club that badly, you'll make it work."

Brittany thought she heard a huff from the corner of the room that Quinn happened to be sitting in.

Rachel puffed her cheeks and stomped a single foot against the floor as Brittany watched Santana's lips lift into a smirk. She decided that now would be the time to gently intervene. "You have full permission to organize fundraisers, Rachel. You can have bake sales, or car washes or—"

"She can come up with her own idea's Britt." Santana interrupted, but then shifted uncomfortably after an uncharacteristic scowl came across Brittany's features.

"Wait." Rachel looked to the ceiling as her eyes darted from side to side in thought. Her eyes fell back to Brittany and Santana. "There's a monetary prize."

Santana narrowed her eyes. "What the hell are you talking about, hobbit."

Rachel's hands began to move excitedly as she explained. "For every competition, there's a first and second place cash prize! If I can guarantee that I'll win, I can use it to pay the fees at the end of the semester!"

"And if you don't win?" Brittany questioned.

Rachel crossed her arms determinedly. "We will."

"And when you don't," Santana hissed. "You'll owe me. And I'm very good at collecting what's mine."

Rachel paled. But after a moment of silence nodded her head, resolute, and then stomped determinedly towards the staircase, dragging a bewildered Kurt on the way. She suddenly spun around. "I will do this."

Brittany smiled lightly in response. She believed her.

Santana, however, simply sneered. "Good luck finding people to join that lame ass club, Berry."

Rachel froze, but then her eyes snapped towards Santana. "When the newly formed glee club wins our first competition, I will deliver you that trophy," Rachel's eyes narrowed imperceptibly. "And the money, personally." And then Rachel stomped down the staircase, out of sight.

Santana waited a moment before announcing in an almost impressed voice. "The girl's got nerve, I'll give her that." She turned towards Brittany with a smile, but when she noticed her piercing glare, it immediately dropped from her features. "What?"

"We need to talk about you never letting me speak, Santana."

The girl in question let out a sigh. She knew this was coming.

Neither Brittany nor Santana noticed Quinn slowly edge out of the room as the bell that signaled the end of lunch rang throughout the campus.

***

Quinn Fabray loved Physical Education.

One would never make that assumption based on her overall demeanor. But at her core, she was the girl that loved the subtle vibration of a bat as it cracked against a baseball. She loved the sting of a soccer ball against her shins. And most of all, she loved the weightlessness and absolute control of a perfect dismount off of a balance beam.

Gymnastics was her calling.

Or would have been, if she didn't have to one day take over a multi-billion dollar enterprise.

She had all but demanded that Dalton Academy added the sport to their PE program her freshman year. It was one of the very few classes she spent away from the F3's classroom, where their private instructor would teach Global Financial Theory, and Organization Management at an agonizingly slow pace. It was the perfect way to burn off the irritable energy running through her veins, caused by thoughts of her unchangeable future, her tainted past, and her—

Quinn straddled the balance beam with a huff and glared across the gymnasium at none other than Rachel Berry.

—her very irritating present.

She was completely oblivious to Quinn, however. Probably the only person in the gym that was. She was flailing hopelessly around the basketball-turned-volleyball court, swinging pitifully at the ball even when it was nowhere near her.

Quinn pressed a palm to her forehead at the sight of it. Was this the girl that stood her ground so fiercely against her just a few days ago? The same girl that just withstood Santana's fiery glare and Brittany's knowing gaze?

"You cannot create friendships with money. Because when your money and power is all gone, you'll find yourself a very lonely girl, Quinn."

Quinn replayed Rachel's parting words that day in her home. What the hell did she know? Doesn't she understand that money and power is what it takes to make it in the world? It was quite unlike her ridiculous idea of a fluffy, unconditional friendship.

In Quinn's world, everything was conditional.

So why did she react so badly when Rachel essentially rejected her? Quinn had never blatantly offered her friendship to anyone before, nor had she ever felt the need. Not since kindergarten when she had first met Santana and Brittany.

It had actually been a long time since Quinn reacted to anything. Her reputation was that of cool indifference for a reason. But she had to admit that it was not only a yearning to prove a very realistic point to Rachel, but a certain amount of guilt that prompted her to approach Rachel in the first place.

Quinn tilted her head as Rachel fumbled for the ball when one of her classmates tossed it in her direction, and snorted when she swung as hard as her arm would allow.

She missed the ball completely.

Most of the students in the gym broke out into laughter at the sight. Quinn zeroed in on two girls she recognized as Sugar Motta and Harmony Hall on the opposite side of the net. They were pointing and laughing the loudest before they began to whisper conspiratorially into each other's ears. They were certainly up to no good.

Quinn felt a flare of possessiveness in her chest at the thought that those girls—nosy annoyances that have been a part of F3's superfluous fan club since day one— were probably scheming against Rachel without her say so. Her suspicions were confirmed when a tall boy—Mike Chang, Quinn remembered—gently took the ball away from Rachel to serve in her place and swatted it skillfully over the net. Harmony then dived for the ball, a perfect set up for Sugar to leap into the air and deliver a power shot straight towards—

Quinn's eyes widened.

Rachel was on the floor clutching at her nose before Quinn could blink. Quinn's grip tightened on the balance beam as she spotted Sugar and Harmony snickering at the injured girl, and was only partially relieved when Mike helped her to her feet a moment afterwards.

But Rachel was still clutching at her nose. She was obviously injured.

Before she could think, Quinn vaulted off of the apparatus and was storming towards the volleyball court. But then she paused mid-step as she watched Rachel wave off Mike's helpful hands and point towards the girls locker room.

Quinn blinked. What was she doing? Why did she care whether or not Berry was okay? She looked towards the swinging door that Rachel had just passed through and took a hesitant step forward.

It was guilt, Quinn confirmed to herself. She refused to allow things to get out of her control again. Not on her campus. Quinn shot a cold glare in Sugar and Harmony's direction, and was pleased to see the pair pale just before she passed through the locker room door. She would deal with them later. But first...

She would be rather upset if she found the commoner dripping blood all over her tiled floors.

And indeed, Rachel was bleeding from her nose, her eyes closed in concentration, and her head tilted backwards in attempt to stop the flow. Quinn immediately grabbed a few paper towels and stepped into Rachel's personal space. And when she gently tilted Rachel's head back to its normal position, Rachel's eyes snapped open and gasped at Quinn's reflection in the mirror in front of her. Rachel was on the other side of the room before Quinn could blink.

"W-What are you doing in here?" Rachel words were muffled due to her hand still being cupped over her nose, but the panic in her voice was clear. Quinn ignored it.

"You shouldn't tilt your head backwards like that. You should pinch the bridge of your nose, at least until the flow stops on its own." Quinn moved towards the nearest sink to dampen the paper towels in her hand. She moved towards Rachel in order to move the hand covering her nose, but she flinched.

Quinn sighed. "Move your hand." She demanded.

Rachel's eyes widened as she shook her head in the negative.

"Berry…" Quinn warned.

They glared at one another until Rachel finally relented. Quinn couldn't withhold her smirk of triumph, but quickly began to lose her patience when Rachel began to remove her hand at a snail's pace. Quinn grabbed her wrist to force it down and nearly gasped at the sight.

Rachel nose was an angry red, and already swollen to a ridiculous size. Her nose was still bleeding steadily. Quinn couldn't explain the sudden surge of annoyance at the sight. "Jesus, Berry! Why weren't you paying attention to the ball?" Quinn huffed as she began to blot carefully just above Rachel's upper lip.

"Not that it's any of your business but—" Rachel started, before wincing as Quinn touched a particularly sensitive part of her nose. "I might have been…a little distracted."

Quinn huffed. "You're terrible at sports, you know. You looked pretty awful, running around the place like that."

Rachel shrugged her shoulders. This didn't seem to be news to her.

"Good thing you're a much better singer, though." Quinn meant to say that to herself, but Rachel's eyes widened. She mentally cursed herself for the slip up.

"How did you—"

Quinn distracted herself by moving to throw away the tainted paper towels. "I was there when you were yapping on about your stupid glee club, remember?" She yanked fresh paper towels from the dispenser with more violence then she intended. "I just figured you'd have to be able to at least carry a tune."

Like Quinn would ever admit that mere moments Rachel had left the F3 lounge that afternoon, she skipped class in order make use of the nearest computer lab.

Like Quinn would ever admit to opening a Google search window, and typing in the very name that she was supposed to hate.

Like Quinn would ever admit to spending just over an hour watching Rachel Berry belt out Broadway classics in front of a webcam, and skimming through footage of her past show choir performances.

Because even though it was purely for research purposes, many people, including Rachel Berry, would find her behavior extremely off-color.

"I can do more than carry a tune, Quinn." Rachel responded haughtily, but seemed to accept Quinn's weak excuse for knowing that bit of information. Though, she did hesitate on the next line. "I-I was actually thinking about how I would get members for the glee club. T-That's why I was a little distracted."

"Whatever, I don't care." Quinn huffed as she stepped forward to resume her surprisingly gentle ministrations. "The next time you decide to get pummeled by a ball because you were distracted, I won't be here to help." Quinn didn't notice Rachel's eyes harden as she continued. "God, it was so embarrassing! Watching you flail around the gym like that—" Quinn's eyes widened as she felt a sharp sting on her wrist. Rachel had batted away her outreached hand.

"I never asked for your help!" Rachel moved towards the sink and began to scrub almost painfully just underneath her nose. "If your version of 'help' is me standing around while being insulted by you, then I'd rather bleed to death!"

Quinn almost laughed at the words. Almost. That girl was beyond dramatic.

"I don't even know why you're in here! Especially since you've made it clear since day one that you take enjoyment from my humiliation." Quinn physically reared back. "Just leave me alone, Quinn."

And then Rachel swept from the room with all the flourish of a soap opera actress.

Quinn didn't realize how hard she was clenching her fists until she opened them to reveal deep crescent moon impressions on her palm. And after ten minutes of standing alone in the bathroom, Quinn realize that she hadn't really gained any enjoyment from her humiliation at all.


	9. Impulse

With athletic tape snug over her nose, Rachel walked into Dalton with a hop in her step, but was immediately blocked by a familiar boy with green eyes, though the chestnut colored hair was new. His eyebrows were furrowed in concern, and the corner of his mouth wrinkled in anger.

There went her morning.

"Did Quinn really do this to you?" Straight to the point, his voice rumbled with a hint of exasperation. He seemed to ignore the fact that Rachel hadn't seen him in at least a few weeks.

Rachel frowned. Why would he think that? "What does it matter to you?" She asked instead, with an unusual amount of animosity.

Sam's eyebrows furrowed even further, confused by Rachel's tone. "You're hurt."

"I'm fine." Rachel answered shortly. "And this wasn't Quinn's doing."

"Rachel, if Quinn threatened you not to tell anyone," Sam's voice lowered. "You can tell me."

"Why? So you can report it straight back to Quinn? To tell her how weak I am? How I went crying to the first person that asked?"

"Rachel, what are you—"

"I know she's your cousin!" Rachel said so loudly that it silenced the almost unnoticeable background chatter in the hallway. She noticed that Sam looked around uneasily. "I don't know what you guys are planning, but I'm going to ask you the same that I asked of Quinn, leave me alone!" She spun around to make an exit until she felt a small amount of pressure on her elbow. Her breath hitched and suddenly, she was back in the choir room and slammed to the floor. Her heart hammered in her chest and she felt the air rush from her lungs.

Rachel felt the pressure on her elbow leave immediately.

She released a breath she did not realize she was holding and blinked away the unexpected memory.

Sam held his hands up in apology and his eyes softened. "I'm sorry. I just need you to hear me out."

"I don't want to hear anything from you right now." Rachel's breathing was a bit labored, and her heartbeat was just beginning to slow down to a normal rate.

"Rachel." Sam's voice lacked ferocity but was still stern. They stood staring at each other for a few moments, ignoring the curious stares of their classmates as they wandered to their respective classrooms. "Tell me what happened." He stated softly.

"It's not what you think." Rachel responded in the same manner.

"I'd like to hear it anyway."

"I don't trust you right now."

Sam inhaled. "Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?"

Rachel's eyes widened as she met Sam's sincere gaze, her mind fluttering back to their brief interactions. He continued to stare at her expectantly.

"No." She finally breathed out. She almost regretted reacting so harshly towards him. Almost. She had every right to be suspicious.

"Is it broken?" Sam slowly brought his hand up to stroke the tender area around Rachel's nose. Though she initially flinched, she fought and failed to hide the blush at his gentle caress.

"I-I—" Rachel attempted to respond as his hand fell to her chin, using the grip to tilt her head side to side as he inspected the damage. Her blush deepened as she pushed his hand away from her face. "I'm going to be late for class…"

Sam kindly took Rachel's hand and gave it a brief squeeze. "Have lunch with me." Rachel couldn't help to notice that he did not phrase it as a question. It seemed to be a family trait. "We can talk then." He finished.

It took Rachel a few seconds to realize that he was waiting patiently for her response. She nodded her head wordlessly as she swallowed to moisten her suddenly dry throat. He then smiled his signature half-smile and walked away from her without another word. She stared after him for moment until the shrill ring of the final bell jerked her away from her thoughts. Cursing silently, she began to jog towards her class.

In her rush, Rachel didn't notice the narrowed pair of hazel eyes watching her from the opposite end of the hallway.

***

Quinn Fabray was a logical person by design.

Hard-learned lessons engrained into her memory from both her mother and estranged father made sure of it. Her practiced progression of thought was to observe, analyze, and—depending on whether or not the results were of benefit—ignore it.

By nature, however, Quinn Fabray was notoriously impulsive.

And right now, her impulse was telling her to slam her fist into Sam Evan's stupid face with as much force as possible. The same stupid face, that was staring with a big stupid smile, at Rachel Berry's big, stupid, swollen, nose.

Her second impulse (after thoroughly wrecking her cousin's face) was to drag Rachel as far away from him as possible, for reasons she was not yet ready to understand. Quinn, of course, acted on neither. Instead, she gripped the sides of her leather jacket with so much force that it's hardened fibers began to rip at the seams. Swallowing her urge for unwarranted to violence, she reminded herself that aggression towards Rachel, or anyone in the commoner's vicinity, never worked out in her favor.

Quinn took a deep breath, and lowered her hands to her sides, but her eyes were still on the pair, standing closely together and murmuring quietly. She watched Rachel narrow her eyes and turn away from him, only to be grabbed at the elbow. Quinn nearly growled at the panicked look that crossed her features, and was seconds from acting on her first impulse, but Sam let go, apologetic.

She watched with clenched fists as Sam caressed Rachel's nose, and in turn, blushed prettily at his caring gesture.

Quinn's eyes narrowed.

She glanced down at her hands clenched into a white-knuckled fist, and began to analyze. She didn't like what she was seeing; the pain of her nails digging into her palms and the bubble of anger rising in her chest told her that much. But she couldn't quite understand the beginning tendrils of jealously curling around her stomach. It made no sense.

Quinn and Sam weren't close. They never have been, even as children. Even as family. Sam wasn't fond of her domineering personality. Quinn didn't like that he was immune to her control. Therefore, they almost never interacted except during family functions. It was possible that she was jealous of the fact Rachel had been able to form a relationship with her cousin in just a few weeks, while she could hardly speak to him in eighteen years.

Or it was possible that—

Quinn's mind flashed back to Rachel's reaction to her in the girl's locker room the day before. How Rachel's eyes were filled with distrust when she did the same actions as Sam did today. How Rachel accused her of taking enjoyment from her humiliation, while she now blushes at Sam's ministrations. Quinn hated that she suddenly felt the tendrils of jealousy curl just a bit tighter.

Quinn ignored the urgent ring of the first period bell and began to walk at a leisurely pace towards F3's private classroom. Class wouldn't begin until she arrived, anyway. She continued her train of thought.

Rachel had denied Quinn's friendship, not once, but twice within the last few weeks. Maybe three times if Quinn counted the fact that Rachel turned down her gracious offer of money after The Incident. Quinn was absolutely convinced that Rachel had been purposefully stubborn in order to gain her attention. It would have been successful if that were the case. The commoner had certainly commanded her attention in a way that no one else dared to try; a blatant dismissal of her authority.

It both angered her and intrigued her so much, that Quinn extended a very rare invitation into her world, even dressing Rachel in the finest clothing to give a glimpse of just what her friendship would entail. Quinn's hope was that her kindness would curb Rachel's stubbornness (and curb her own guilt of Rachel's Red Carded hardships), but the girl didn't seem to be interested in her friendship in the least.

Unless—

Quinn's steps faltered to a stop just as she stepped into the classroom.

A dangerous smirk crossed Quinn's features. She ignored the curious looks coming from both Brittany and Santana, each sitting at their respective mahogany desks. It was as if a light bulb had just gone off inside of her head.

—Unless Rachel wasn't just seeking friendship.

Quinn shook her head with a small laugh. That poor, silly girl. Why didn't she see this before?

She moved towards her own desk and sat down in her leather chair with an elegant flair.

Even though Quinn couldn't rightfully return her affections, she couldn't help but to feel flattered at the thought, and could completely understand Rachel's attraction to her.

She was beautiful, wealthy, and charismatic, after all. Rachel is just the one of many people who had fallen for the Fabray charm. Quinn perched her chin on her knuckles with a grin. Rachel Berry has had a crush on her the entire time.

How cute.

Quinn picked up the pencil resting on the desk with her free hand, and began to doodle absently on the open notebook in front of her. Maybe she would humor Rachel. Perhaps pay for her silly glee club and knock her silly notion that money doesn't buy happiness. Maybe even treat her to an expensive dinner; that would certainly improve her stubborn behavior. It's what Rachel wanted all along, anyway.

A frown suddenly swept Quinn's features.

But if Rachel has had a crush on her since the beginning, then why was her behavior towards Sam so…affectionate? Thoughts about Rachel's reaction to Sam's presence sent a wave of irritation through her body, and the urge to punch him came back in full force. Quinn's frown deepened.

Thanks to the somewhat accurate Dalton rumor mill, she's learned that Sam has also taken a unique interest in Rachel as well.

Their closeness from earlier this morning confirmed it.

And for the life of her, Quinn couldn't understand why she snapped her pencil in half at the thought.

***

Quinn's irritation with the newly developed Sam and Rachel dynamic lasted all the way until lunch.

She swept into the F3 Lounge with barely a hello to Brittany. A brief scan of the room let her know that Santana must have been getting their lunch, as usual. When Quinn was sitting in one of the plush sofas in their lounge, her foot hammered the floor mercilessly.

When Quinn was standing, she paced the floor, stopping every few moments to peer over the banister that overlooked the main area of the cafeteria. But then she would huff, as if she hadn't found what she was looking for and continue back towards her seat. Rinse and repeat.

She could tell that it made Brittany feel antsy.

"Quinn," Brittany's voice broke through her restlessness, though the only thing that showed Quinn was listening was her low hum of acknowledgment. "Can you stop that? You're making me dizzy."

"Where the hell is Santana with our food?" Was Quinn's grunted response. She watched Brittany tilt her head from the corner of her eye.

"What's the matter?" Brittany questioned, watching as Quinn walked over to the banister once more.

"Just hungry, I suppose." Quinn responded absently. She made her way back to the sofa, and sat down with a delicate grace than only a Fabray could manage.

Brittany sighed. Quinn understood that she wasn't the easiest person to get to open up, even though Brittany had known her for years. She remembers Brittany telling her that getting through to her inner workings was like breaking open a steel box with a plastic hammer. Quinn hated to admit it, but Brittany was right, and it was usually Santana that was armed with best tools for the job.

Brittany, however, was the best listener. Her eccentricities allowed her to give a unique perspective on any situation. And quite unlike Santana, Brittany had the patience to wait until Quinn's walls crumbled of their own accord.

Silence descended between the two girls until Quinn took a deep breath.

"Britt."

The walls were crumbling.

Quinn tilted her head to the ceiling. "I followed Rachel into the locker room after she was hurt during P.E. yesterday."  
"She got hurt?" Brittany questioned softly, encouraging her to continue.

Quinn licked her lips. "Yeah. By that Sugar girl, during volleyball." Her voice dipped dangerously at Sugar's name. "God Brittany you should have seen her, it was like watching a train wreck. She couldn't even hit the ball. But then, she was on the floor, clutching her nose, and her stupid eyes started to water..." Quinn crossed her arms in thought. "I wanted to help ."  
Quinn couldn't help but to feel just a little hurt that Brittany's eyes widened in shock at thought of her wanting to help someone. She dismissed it though. There was more important things that she needed to vent about.

"And then I saw her with Sam this morning—"

A loud squeal and thud from the bottom of the lounge staircase interrupted Quinn. A string of Spanish words followed the noise not long after. Both of the girls stood to peak down the staircase, and saw Santana forcefully pulling a short, pale-looking boy with a ridiculously large head of hair by the collar of his blazer. By the time she reached the lounge, the boy looked to nearly be in tears.  
"Hey, Britt." Santana greeted, as if someone wasn't struggling fitfully in her grip. "Hey, Q." As the boy began to whine pathetically, she shook him forcefully. He quieted immediately.  
"What's going on Santana." Quinn's voice was steely, her cold demeanor was back in full force at the presence of the boy. Though, she couldn't help but to feel annoyed at the interruption. Quinn wouldn't feel too keen on sharing her feelings anytime soon.  
"Ask Jewfro, here." Santana shoved the boy in front of Quinn, whose hard gaze caused the boy to tremble even harder than before.

"Name."

"J-Jacob B-Ben I-Israel."

Quinn already knew who he was. They all did. The infamous editor in chief of The Daily Warbler, Dalton Academy's personalized gossip site. "Why are you here."

When Jacob didn't answer immediately, Santana poked him roughly on the shoulder. "Show her." She hissed. "Now."

Quinn watched as he shakily began to move a black iPad clutched to his chest, but when Santana thought he was moving too slowly, she snatched it out of his grip and tossed it towards Quinn, who caught it deftly.

"What am I looking at."

Santana motioned in her direction. "Just read it."

Quinn stared at the screen for a moment. "It's a gossip site. You know I don't read this trash." She moved to hand back the device.

Santana huffed. "Just read it."

Quinn sighed and moved her fingers daintily on the screen, her eyes rapidly darting back and forth as she read the article before her. As time passed her eyes narrowed further and further until finally shooting a frightening glare at the boy in front of her.

"Has this gotten to any other sites." She spoke to Santana without looking at her.

"Nothing major. Still pretty confined to school grounds."

Quinn was relieved but hardly showed it. She bared her teeth and took a small sense of enjoyment at the shiver that wracked Jacob's frame. "Do you make it a habit of posting lies on your website." She asked without really asking.

He gulped and shook his head so frantically that his glasses nearly flew off of his face.

"Then what am I looking at." She enunciated every word.

The boy began to stutter so badly that Quinn had to stop him immediately. "This needs be removed. Now." She let the tablet fall to the floor, and slammed a booted heel onto its screen.

He squealed, staring remorsefully at his iPad, now broken on the floor. "B-B-But—"

And suddenly he was snatched up to Quinn's eye level by his tie. "You have five seconds to get out of my sight and remove it or else I'll make your life a living hell. Do you understand me?" He nodded with wide eyes. She released her hold and he scampered from the room as quickly as his legs could carry.

The moment he was out of sight, Quinn let out a sigh. She looked towards a smirking Santana. "Has Berry seen it?"

Santana shrugged her shoulders. She knew that Santana didn't really care. "Is it true?"

Quinn lifted her lip in a silent snarl. "No."

"Figured." Santana murmured, unaffected. "Speaking of Streisand look-a-like," She shot a thumb over her shoulder. "Why is she looking all cozy with your cousin downstairs?"

Quinn was on the other side of the room, peering over the banister before Santana could finish her sentence.

"It looks like Lady Lips finally found a girl. Funny, I was starting to think he batted for another team."

But Quinn didn't hear Santana's remark. Instead, her knuckles gripped the railing with more force than necessary.  
Quinn didn't see as Brittany's intelligent eyes took in her reaction with a thoughtful tilt to her head, nor the curious glint in Santana's eyes that would have told Quinn that she was doing the same.

But Quinn was already storming down the stairs, a familiar coil tightening around her stomach. She couldn't stop herself if she tried.

And she had really, really tried.

But right now, green was the only color she could see.

***

Rachel smoothed her skirt for the nth time since the lunch bell rang, but she couldn't shake the nervous flutter in her chest. Her skin flushed at the memory of Sam smoothing his fingers over her sensitive nose, but she stopped herself immediately. She wasn't going to start thinking about that.

That meaning any thought or semblance of any attraction, ever. Especially to a person at Dalton Academy.

Especially to a person who was a member of one of the wealthiest families in the country.

Especially to a person who was Quinn Fabray's cousin.

No matter how sweet, or charming, or caring, or good-looking that person was.

Because she had the important matter of the glee club to worry about. Not to mention maintaining her grades in order to keep her scholarship, and the ever-present dream of her Broadway career. Those things were much more important than a silly attraction.

So Rachel's heart did not flutter when she spotted Sam leaning against the archway entrance to the cafeteria. Nor did her stomach roll when he greeted her with a small wave and his signature half-smile. She smiled brightly in return. But only because it was the nice thing to do. Not because she found the way his eyes squinted and his nose scrunched slightly at the gesture, adorable.

Not at all.

"Lunch is on me." Were his first words. Always straight to the point. Rachel respected that. That being a great quality that she just so happened to seek in a romantic relationship. But that had nothing to do with it.

Rachel shook her head in response and held up her pink lunch tote. "I brought lunch. But thank you very much. Are you going to get yourself something?"  
He held up a bright red apple—previously unnoticed— in response, before leading her to the nearest square table. She didn't blush when he pulled out her chair and waited for her to be seated before settling across from her, and she didn't fidget when his green eyes rested momentarily on her nose, and then met her gaze directly.

"How did you find out?" There was no preemption, no small talk.

Rachel blinked. "A-About you being related to…"

Sam nodded.

Sam's gaze felt like an intrusion, so she shifted her focus towards her lunch, which she began to slowly unpack. "A friend let it slip during a conversation."

"Kurt?"

Rachel looked up in surprise. "How did you—"

"Being the commoner, Rachel Berry, doesn't make you very many friends. Does it?" Rachel was about to protest against the rhetorical question, but Sam continued. "Neither does being Quinn Fabray's cousin." Rachel's mouth clicked shut immediately. "People are either too afraid or too intimidated to try. Sound familiar?"

Rachel wrinkled her eyebrows. "I don't understand."

"Of course you wouldn't."

"Excuse me?" Rachel pursed her lips.

"I didn't say that to be rude." Sam sighed as he ran his fingers through his chestnut hair. "You literally wouldn't understand. Being a blue-blood? Family names are probably more important than currency. Here, the Berry name has been blackballed thanks to the F3." Same shrugged. "Just as the Evan's name brings fear, thanks to me being related to its leader."

Rachel hummed thoughtfully. "So it's not exactly a secret, is it?"

"No," Sam huffed. "But it's not exactly something we broadcast either."

Rachel took a small bite of her food in order to contemplate Sam's words. She had seen firsthand just what the word 'Fabray' did to the masses. The more that she thought about it, the more that she realized that she would never understand the importance of it. It just wasn't her world.

"But you really need to understand that for a lot families that come from old money, familial relationships are probably their lowest priority. Everything is business."

Rachel scrunched her eyebrows. How can being a part of a family not include a relationship? She tried to imagine a world where she wasn't on speaking terms with her fathers.

She couldn't.

"Quinn is family. We're not friends." Sam huffed before he took a large bite of his apple. "We're barely even roommates."

Rachel felt a small pang in her chest at the thought. That just proved to her even further that money does not buy happiness. Where can you find more happiness than with your family? But then Rachel's breath hitched when Sam's words finally caught up with her. "You live together?" She shook her head in confusion. "I didn't see you when—" But she stopped her words immediately, Santana's threatening words floating through her thoughts.

"Today's events never happened." Santana's voice was dangerously low.

"What?"

"You heard me, Mini-Me."

"And what if I say they did?" Rachel tested.

"Then I'd have to find a way to make you forget it." Santana's eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'm known to be creative when I want to be."

"I-I mean. I don't see how you can live together and not even—" She swallowed when he raised a hauntingly familiar eyebrow at her slip up, but didn't comment on it. "Why do you live with her?"

"My family is overseas. They want me here in the States."

Rachel stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He didn't, opting to take a bite of his apple instead.

They began to eat in silence.

"So what happened?" He suddenly asked as he tapped his nose, indicating what he was referring to. "If Quinn didn't do it, who did?"  
Rachel rubbed her knees with a sigh. "Why would you think Quinn did it?"

Sam shot her an incredulous look. "Other than the obvious reasons?" Rachel fought the blush that rose to her cheeks. "There's a rumor floating around about it."

"A rumor?" Rachel was officially curious. At McKinley, she hardly ever found herself a part of the rumor mill. All of the insults about her were usually just said to her face. Usually accompanied by the slushie flavor of the week.

"What are people saying?"

Sam dug into the pocket of his blazer pulled out his a smart phone. "I usually don't pay attention to this trash, but given the history between you and Quinn…" Rachel watched as he made a few swipes and taps with his fingers before sliding it in her direction.

Her eyes widened immediately.

**'COMMONER, RACHEL BERRY ATTACKED BY F3 LEADER'**

She glanced up, alarmed, at Sam who motioned for her to keep reading the article. 

**'Yesterday at 2:33pm, eye witnesses reported a very angry—but no less beautiful—Quinn Fabray, 18, pulling the unwilling and befuddled commoner Rachel Berry, 17, into the girls locker room. Yelling was said to be heard, and only a few moments later, Berry was spotted running out of the locker room, clutching her nose.'**

Rachel suddenly gasped. There, just below the article, was a gritty picture of her doing just as article explained. "How did they even get this picture?" Sam only stared at her. 

**'After a spectacular Red Card survival, the first recorded, it would seem that Quinn was beginning to take personal interest in tormenting the newcomer. A route that has never been taken with past Red Carded victims.**

**"I think the commoner provoked her." Sugar Motta, 16, admitted, as she dipped into her father's Aston Martin. "I mean, she is poor, what if she's just looking for easy money? What better way to do that than to get Quinn Fabray to punch her in the nose?"**

**What do you think, fellow readers? Were Rachel's intentions anything but pure? Is the great Quinn Fabray taking things too far? Click here to continue reading.'**

Rachel felt the phone being tugged out her grip before she could accidentally shatter it to pieces. She couldn't believe that these—these lies about her were spreading throughout the school!

"This isn't—none of this is true! Well, most of it isn't."

"But it's probable."

Rachel opened her mouth to respond, but then nodded in agreement. It was probable.

Sam shifted his chair to Rachel's side of the table. "What really happened?" He questioned quietly.

"I don't think you'd believe me if I told you." Rachel responded in the same manner. Though she was admittedly having trouble looking at the boy now sitting next her. His clean scent and concerned gaze had nothing to do with it. Really.

"Try me."

And so Rachel began to relay the real events that took place that day. She tried to ignore the fact that Sam's eyes grew wide during the explanation. She also tried to ignore the low whistle when she repeated her parting words to Quinn just before she stormed from the locker room.

" —and I went straight to the nurses office. Luckily, it's not broken. But the nurse suggested that I get a nose job, anyway. 'Maybe this was for your own good' she said. That was rather rude of her, I think." Rachel fiddled with her fork nervously, food long forgotten. Sam only continued to stare at her, mouth agape. "Say something, please."

"Well that sounds like—" Sam scratched the back of his head. "—total bullshit. 'Quinn Fabray Carefully Tends to Commoner, Rachel Berry's Bloody Nose,' makes a terrible headline anyway."

Rachel huffed out a laugh. "Now that I say it out loud, it does seem rather unlike Quinn doesn't it?"

"What seems rather unlike Quinn?" A new voice added to the conversation.

A new voice that caused Rachel's fork to drop with a clatter into her Tupperware bowl.

A new voice that brought a distinct shiver to Rachel's spine.

"Because Quinn is standing right here, and she doesn't recall a commoner knowing her well enough to make that distinction."

Rachel suddenly felt the gaze of the entire cafeteria on their table, but her eyes remained on the table in front of her, refusing to make contact with what she knew to be fiery hazel eyes.

"Hey, Quinn." Sam spoke first, sarcasm rolling off of him in waves. "Speak of the devil. You know the saying."

Rachel was unsuccessful in holding back her snort, but cringed at the feeling of Quinn staring daggers into her skull. The three were silent for a moment; Rachel staring into her food, Sam defiantly staring up at his cousin, and Quinn glaring down at Rachel.

"I need to speak with you, Berry." Quinn's words sounded forced between clenched teeth.

Rachel's head finally snapped up to meet Quinn's gaze and tried to not to gulp at the promise of misery in them if she didn't comply. But Rachel was stubborn. Very stubborn. "Why?"

Yet her voice echoed with another, deeper voice. Sam was asking the same question. Quinn's eyes hardened, but didn't stray from Rachel's.

"That is none of your concern, Sam."

"It is when you're interrupting our conversation." Sam defended.

Quinn's gaze snapped to Sam's. "Talk to her later."

"Why? I'm talking to her now."

"I have things to discuss with her. Things that are none of your business."

"Well Rachel is staying."

"Rachel is coming with me."

"Rachel is sitting right here and can speak for herself!"

Sam and Quinn's eyes both snapped towards Rachel with an eerily similar amount of intensity. Even though they didn't get along, they were most certainly members of the same family.

"I'm done speaking with the both of you." She stood on her feet, and without even bothering to pack up her lunch, prepared for a perfect storm out.

Two voices interrupted her instead.

"Where do you think you're going—"  
"Rachel, I wanted to ask you —"

Rachel rounded on Quinn first. "You!" She stabbed a finger towards her chest. "For a person that hates me so much, you find it oddly necessary to seek me out on a daily basis. I'm seeing you far too often, Quinn Fabray!" She watched as Quinn batted her finger away and crossed her arms with a huff. "Sam and I were in the middle of a conversation, before you so rudely interrupted." Rachel next rounded on Sam, but her voice softened. "As honorable your intentions were Sam, I don't need you to speak up for me. I'm more than capable of defending myself verbally. I'm not an object to be tossed in whatever direction you want, understand?" Sam nodded once. She turned towards Quinn with a glare. "Understand?"

Quinn only scoffed with a roll of her eyes, but didn't protest. Sam looked at Quinn peculiarly.

"There was something you wanted to ask me?" Rachel directed the question towards Sam, whose look towards his cousin went unnoticed.

"Uh, yes." He paused, first looking at Quinn again with a raised eyebrow, then focusing his gaze on Rachel, his signature half-smile crossing his features. "What are you doing Friday night?"

Loud gasps from the their forgotten audience rang throughout the cafeteria, including Rachel's.

Quinn's mouth dropped open in shock.

"N-Nothing, I suppose." Rachel sputtered suddenly aware that everyone's eyes were on her. She usually wouldn't mind, but this wasn't a performance. "I don't have any plans. Why do you ask?"

"Are you familiar with the Downtown Plaza?"

Rachel's eyes widened. She had only gone a few times with her parents, but she remembered the elegance and beauty of the architecture, the handsome trees that lined it's walkways, and the magnificent fountains that were scattered throughout the courtyards. But what she remembered the most is the three-story music shop, Breve, in the plaza's center and the high-end restaurants that surrounded it.

"Y-Yes. I'm familiar."

"Six o'clock at the Gershwin Café."

Rachel nearly swayed on her feet. It was one of the largest restaurants in the Downtown Plaza, directly across the way from the music store. Known for its daily piano entertainment and expensive food, Rachel had only seen it in passing.

She was fighting the urge to run her fingers through her hair. "T-That would be—" But then Rachel's vision was blocked by brown leather. Quinn was standing with her back towards her, her hands clenched at her sides and—from what Rachel could see—her face, red with anger. Rachel blinked. Quinn was staring down Sam with more ferocity than she had ever seen.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Sam?" Quinn managed to get out between clenched teeth. She seemed to be well aware of their audience as well.

"You told me to talk to her later, Quinn." Sam shrugged, unimpressed. "But that's none of your concern."

Rachel heard Quinn let out a low growl of irritation before she felt a rough pull on her wrist. She didn't realize she was being tugged out of the cafeteria until she heard Sam call her name in concern. She glanced towards Quinn, who was marching determinedly ahead of her, and decided that just going along with it would conserve more energy for what would be an inevitable yelling match. Rachel waved off Sam. She could handle herself for the time being.

They passed the two other members of the F3 staring curiously from the top of the staircase to their private lounge. They passed numerous hallways, and they climbed multiple staircases, until they came across a deserted locker row on the third floor.

Quinn was pushing Rachel against a locker before she could blink.

"You are not going out with him." Quinn hissed. Her eyes blazed with more golden flecks than green, and her hands clenched on Rachel's shoulders. Her golden hair was swept up into a neat ponytail, which in turn accentuated her striking features even more. Quinn was in fact standing so close to Rachel, that she could smell the light mist of a perfume, and even then, Rachel failed to come across a single flaw on her features; from her perfectly trim eyebrows, down to her plump pink lips, down to her slender neck—  
Rachel blinked at the unfairness of it.

Was there ever a time that Quinn wasn't beautiful? Even when she was angry.

Rachel shook her head from those thoughts and glared at the girl in front of her. "Quinn Fabray, let go of me this instant!" She stomped her foot for good measure.

Only after brief stare down, did Quinn hesitantly comply.

"Your behavior is absolutely absurd! How in the world have you gotten away with this for so long?"

"You're not going out with him." She repeated heatedly. But she sounded almost…petulant.

Rachel sighed as she smoothed down her tie and adjusted her blazer. "You can't tell me what I can or cannot do, Quinn."

She jumped when Quinn slammed her palm against the nearest locker. "Why the hell are you so stubborn?"

Rachel's eyes narrowed, though her chest suddenly felt constricted. "Why the hell do you have such a temper? You're out of control, Quinn." She moved to step around the F3 leader but was immediately dragged back by the arm and pushed back against the locker.

Rachel's heart began to beat rapidly in her chest; unfortunate side effects from an unfortunate series of events. Quinn must have noticed the panicked look on her face, but when she seemed as though she was going to apologize, Quinn was suddenly getting dragged backwards by an arm around her neck.

A rather slender looking arm.

All Rachel could do was blink at Quinn, who was struggling fitfully within the person's hold.

A low chuckle sounded from Rachel's savior. "You haven't been able to get out of my chokehold since you were eight. I see you still suck at it, Luce."

Quinn stilled immediately at the voice, a sense of familiarity crossing her features. "What did you just call me?" She sounded irritated, but the disbelief was still present in her voice.

"I also see you still can't control your temper." The woman—Rachel now knew—ignored Quinn's question and peeked around her head to peer at Rachel. "Are you okay? I know Lucy here," the woman shook the girl in her grip. "Can get a little aggressive sometimes."

Rachel's eyes widened. "You're—" Her mind was racing a mile a minute. She was trying to comprehend what she was seeing. Identical blonde hair and hazel eyes, the familiarity, and why did she keep calling Quinn, Lucy? But what stood out the most was that she had seen the woman's face on the covers of numerous magazines and in numerous films. Not to mention her most recent Broadway debut.

"H-Holly Holiday! You're Holly Holiday!"

The woman winked in her direction as she finally released Quinn from her hold. The F3 leader spun around immediately and paused, her brows narrowing in disbelief.

"What are you doing here, Franny?"

Rachel looked between the two of them. Franny? As in—

"Long time no see, Sis." Holly—or Franny Fabray—greeted with a mock salute.


	10. Jealousy

If Quinn Fabray was considered Dalton Academy's royalty, then Holly Francis Fabray was considered its Pope.

When Franny parted a gasping and whispering crowd without even a raise of her hand, Quinn could do nothing but observe Rachel's wistful smile as she stalked with a scowl on her features behind them.

She felt the tendrils of jealously curl through her chest again, stronger than ever.

Rachel had a ridiculously bright smile on her features, and her eyes sparkled with unabashed admiration. Ridden with excitable hand gestures and light giggles, she had all but forgotten that Quinn even existed.

Quinn fought down the overwhelming urge to tug on Rachel's hair just to remind the girl that her presence should be just as noticeable as Franny's. It was Quinn that Rachel had the crush on, after all.

She grimaced at the sound of Rachel's sudden bout of laughter.

"I can't believe that I'm actually talking to the Holly Holiday." She heard Rachel squeal almost exactly like the lemmings in the crowd. "I must congratulate you on your decision to break into Broadway, especially after reading numerous reviews about your debut in CrossRhodes: The April Rhodes Story…"

Santana would be proud at how hard Quinn rolled her eyes.

Every since the two of them were younger, Franny had the ability to be the center of attention without really trying. She was naturally warm and entertaining, and people flocked to her immediately, even their own parents. Quinn fully believed that Franny was the coveted child; the shining heir to the Fabray throne. But just like Quinn, she was impulsive by nature and defied their parent's wishes by eloping with a Hollywood star and pursuing an acting career.

Quite a successful one, Quinn had to admit.

But that didn't stop Quinn from resenting her sister for leaving the family's responsibilities solely on her shoulders. And now, the 'Golden Fabray' was back for reasons Quinn had yet to find out.

For reasons she was going to find out.

"Fran," Quinn growled out as they reached the entrance hallway of the school. But her sister ignored her, choosing to continue a particularly engaging story about one of her many travels to Western Europe. Quinn clenched her teeth at the sound of Rachel's raucous laughter. Just as she was going to insult her sister on her rudeness, the sound of Santana's voice boomed throughout the hall.

"Francis Fabray!" The three of them—Quinn, Franny, and Rachel—spun around at the sound of her voice. "A little birdie told me you were back in town. I wouldn't have believed it until I saw your ugly mug and Quinn's sour puss face for myself."

Franny cracked a pearly-white smile. "And you're still delightful as ever, Santana." She winked. In less than three steps, Santana Lopez, tough girl extraordinaire, was getting twirled in the air by the older Fabray sister. After settling down, and punching Santana lightly on the arm for good measure, she peered around the rapidly crowding hallway.

"Where's Britt—" But before Franny could finish her sentence, a tall blonde blur slammed in to her, nearly stumbling from the force of it."Fran!" Brittany's voice was muffled, as it was currently buried in her neck. "When did you get back?"

"Just this morning," Was Franny's equally as muffled reply. She peered over Brittany's shoulder, a hard stare into Quinn's matching hazel eyes. "Just in time, as well."

Quinn felt an embarrassed blush creep down her neck before she could help it. She glanced at Rachel, who was staring with an unreadable expression on her features, and she suddenly became self-aware of the behavior she exhibited just moments before. Quinn's gaze fell to the marble floor.

"Why are you here instead of Los Angeles, anyway?" Quinn questioned, subdued.

"I just came to check out my old stomping grounds," Franny answered with a wave of her hand. A signal that clearly stated that she would reveal the real bit of information in a more private setting, away from prying ears of the students of Dalton Academy. "And to surprise my little sister, of course." She moved away from Brittany's grip to ruffle Quinn's hair, to her dismay.

"I'm not a child anymore." Quinn huffed, but Franny only pinched her cheeks in response. Quinn tried to ignore Rachel's wide-eyed stare and Santana's discourteous chuckle, at their interaction.

Suddenly Franny straightened, hazel eyes raking around the now crowded entrance hall, her Fabray persona coming into full affect. The murmurs and whispers stopped immediately.

"I'm having a celebration, Saturday evening. Time, eight o'clock. Location, Château Fabray. Formal invites will be sent by the end of the week." Franny's eyes met Santana's and Brittany's. They both nodded in acknowledgment. They would be in attendance. She didn't bother to look in Quinn's direction and instead turned to Rachel, who was standing quietly to her right.

"You'd have to excuse me," Franny began with a small smile. "But with all my rambling, I completely forgot to ask you your name."

Quinn rolled her eyes when Rachel began to sputter. "R-Rachel. Rachel Berry."

"The commoner, Rachel Berry?" Realization dawned on Franny's features. "I knew you looked familiar."

Quinn watched Rachel's reaction carefully, fully expecting her stomp her feet indignantly at being called a commoner once again. But instead, Rachel's eyes widened in surprise. "How did you—I mean, how does everyone—"

"There's not a lot of people in this town who wouldn't know your name." Rachel's eyes widened. "You would be surprised."

Rachel's face spread into a wide smile. Quinn felt the sudden urge to wipe it off.

Franny lightly touched Rachel's upper arm. "Rachel Berry, I would like to personally invite you to my gathering this Saturday." She ignored the gasps of the crowd. "I believe I would enjoy your company."

Rachel began to sputter again. "I-I don't think—"

More gasps sounded from the crowd. Sugar Motta's nasally intake of breath stood out the most. "How stupid is she? Who turns down an invitation from a Fabray?"

Quinn took a deep breath to prevent herself from launching herself at Sugar. Franny didn't seem to hear though, instead she turned to Quinn with a puzzled look on her features. It seemed as though her sister wasn't used to being turned down, despite being away from the family for a few years.

Quinn hid her smirk with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders.

Franny turned back to Rachel with a soft smile. "I insist."

Rachel shook her head, much more firmly this time. "I really don't think that would be a good idea." Rachel glanced around the room, briefly meeting Quinn's gaze, then down at herself. Quinn frowned at the hint of insecurity she caught in her eyes.

Quinn decided that she preferred the stubborn glint that she had grown accustomed to.

"I can honestly say that I've never had to ask anyone for anything more than once." Franny responded with a smirk. She turned to speak to Quinn. "She's a challenge." Rachel blushed as she glanced down at her shoes, just missing Quinn's much less pronounced flush.

"Well, I suppose I can come. For a little while at least, if that's okay." Rachel's eyes looked curiously towards Quinn.

And Quinn's mouth went dry. Certainly not because Rachel's eyes were currently on hers, silently asking for permission to attend the event.

Quinn adjusted the collar of her blouse. The entrance hall suddenly felt a little warm.

"Whatever, Berry." She flipped her blonde ponytail. "It's Franny's event, not mine. Just stay out of my way."

Rachel's blush gave way to an angry flush. "If past events have taught me anything, Quinn, is that you'll probably end up seeking me out anyway."

Quinn felt the tips of her ears grow hot from both the small giggles of the audience and Rachel's response. Unfortunately Santana's loud guffaw stood out the most.

"Now, if you'll excuse me. I wouldn't want to be late for class." She nodded towards Franny with a small smile. "It was a pleasure meeting you Miss Holiday." And then she brushed past Quinn without a second glance towards the entrance staircase.

Quinn didn't realize that she was watching Rachel flit up the stairs until she felt a hard nudge on her shoulder. Franny was staring down at her with twinkling eyes.

"Let's go." Franny motioned to the school's entrance. "It's time to catch up, little sis."

***

"James and I are separated." Franny breathed out the moment their limousine driver shut the car door.

Quinn froze. "What?"

James Holiday was the very definition of a Hollywood actor. Flowing brown locks; a blinding white smile; tall, muscular, and a seemingly permanent five o'clock shadow. His time was spent camouflaging in the jungles of South America, or conducting heart-pounding car chases in crowded European cities. He was a typical action star who spent most of his days shirtless. Women fawned over him, and he very well took advantage of that fact.

At least until the day he met Franny Fabray.

She was icy and aloof when they first met, the very definition of a Fabray. But no amount of "training" from their mother could dampen Franny's natural warmth. James fell for her immediately. It didn't take long for Franny to follow suit.

They were married within three months.

"James—I—we decided it would be best if we parted ways for the time being."

But Quinn never quite trusted him. "What did he do?"

Franny rubbed her forehead in frustration, an emotion that was only ever shown in privacy. "No one knows yet, and I would like to keep it that way." Franny cut her eyes towards Quinn. "Even mom. She can't know. At least not yet."

Quinn rolled her eyes at the statement. In her opinion, their mother would have no place to be upset with Franny about the subject of marriage, especially with her own very messy, very public divorce from their father a few years ago. But then again, their mother was hypocritical, judgmental, and most of all, obsessed with public image.

Judy would not be happy.

"Why—" Quinn sighed. "What did he do." She repeated instead. She would be happy to make James Holiday's life a living hell.

Quinn felt the car begin to move as Franny's gaze moved towards the window. The car was silent.

"I'm going to be honest," Quinn nodded even though her sister couldn't see her. "I cheated."

"Franny…"

"I was questioning my love for him." Franny admitted with a sigh. "I wasn't sure if…I didn't want to be in a relationship that I wasn't passionate about anymore."

"And?"

"I've never regretted anything more."

Quinn pinched the bridge of her nose. "Is that all?" Scandal filled marriages in their world was about as natural as the change of seasons. The Fabray family was proof.

"Is that all?" Franny's words sounded strained. "Is that all, Lucy?"

"Don't act like we haven't seen worse."

Franny went silent.

"And stop calling me Lucy. It's outdated."

"It's your name." Franny murmured.

"It's a stupid name." Quinn knew that she sounded childish, but they both understood that neither could take the weight that came along with that conversation.

"So," Franny started after a beat. "Are you going to tell me why I walked onto campus only to see my baby sister with a short brunette pinned against the lockers?"

Quinn's cheeks colored at the innuendo in Franny's chosen words. "Is there something you need to tell me, Quinn?"

"No!" Quinn snapped a bit too quickly. "It's nothing like that. Don't be absurd."

"The poor girl looked absolutely terrified."

"It wasn't…" Quinn sighed as she looked out at the blurred scenery through the car window. "I didn't mean to frighten her."

She felt Franny's gaze on her, picking her apart, reading her. Quinn tried her best to ignore it.

"What exactly did you mean to do?"

Quinn crossed her legs and rested her chin on the palm of her hand. "Sam asked her out."

She could hear the incredulity in Franny's tone when she hummed for her to continue.

"I didn't want her to go." Quinn replied with a half shrug.

"I don't think I fully understand."

Quinn finally tore her gaze away from the scenery to look at her sister. "She has feelings for me."

Franny snorted in a very un-Fabray-like manner, but when she noticed Quinn's unchanging features, the amusement faded."Wait, you're actually serious?"

Quinn only blinked in response.

"I feel as though I may be missing something entirely in this conversation."

Quinn played back to conversation in her mind and realized that the lack of detail could cause confusion to misinformed ears. Not that it mattered, anyway.

"From the beginning." Franny's voice left no room for argument, eerily similar to their mother's "business" tone. Quinn's spin stiffened and she began speaking immediately.

She spoke about Rachel's first day at Dalton Academy, her blatant disrespect to Quinn and the other members of F3. She discussed Rachel's stubborn attitude and lack of etiquette, and her skewed views of how the upper-class society functioned. How Quinn's own temper snapped when Rachel shoved a sorbet cone in her face as a twisted form of retribution for her treatment of Kurt Hummel.

Quinn ignored the murmured, "Well deserved," from her sister.

She continued to speak of Rachel's Red Card status, and how Quinn's own frustration grew when Rachel only seemed to become more resilient rather than apologetic. She described the incident in the choir room that ultimately ended her punishment.

Her own hands began to tighten to white-knuckled fists at the thought, but then Franny's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits.

"You did what?"

Quinn hastily explained that thanks to their cousin, Rachel was physically safe from harm, but still might have been traumatized by the events. Franny's glare intensified, but motioned for Quinn to continue.

She described the annoyance she felt at Sam's constant interference and the soft spot that he had been developing for Rachel. She tried to describe the guilt she felt that the situation got out of her control and her attempts to gain her friendship (leaving out what Santana described as kidnap since there was no way to explain herself out of that one). Her voice grew smug when she described how she had finally figured out Rachel didn't want to just be her friend, hence why she constantly denied her friendship.

Quinn just missed Franny raising a single eyebrow when she growled out that Sam asked the commoner out in front of the entire school. Her chest began to tighten when she spoke of how quickly Rachel and Sam began to grow closer and how contradicting Rachel's actions were to her true feelings.

Franny's second eyebrow lifted to meet the first. "And you dragged her upstairs and pinned her against the lockers because…you were jealous?"

Quinn huffed. She understood that she felt annoyance and recognized the tell-tale signs of jealousy, but she just wasn't sure what exactly she was jealous of. "I was going to tell her that—" Tell her what, exactly? Tell her that she would fund Rachel's precious glee club endeavor? Tell her that she wanted to take Rachel out to dinner in Sam's place? Tell her that no matter how flattering Rachel's affections were, the privilege of being her friend should be enough?

Her rationale made her cringe, even in her own mind. She could only imagine how Franny would react, so she fixed her statement accordingly."—it was unacceptable to go out with Sam as it would reflect poorly on her. It would seem like she was going for the next best thing, since she can't have me romantically, of course." Quinn sighed. "But you dragged me away before I could let her know she didn't have a chance."

Franny's mouth fell open at the end of Quinn's lengthy dialogue, and stared at her for a long moment. Quinn figured she was attempting to gather her thoughts for an appropriate response.

"I-" Franny paused. "You-" She pinched the bridge of her nose. "When was the last time you've been to therapy?"

"Fran!"

"I'm serious." Franny quirked her lips. "Let's just start off by saying, this is the lengthiest amount of dialogue that I have ever heard from you in one sitting." Quinn opened her mouth to protest, but Franny waved a slender finger to silence her. "And this is the most I have ever heard you speak about a single person in one conversation."

Franny shushed Quinn before she could speak, once again. "And you have possibly chosen the worst person as your target. Rachel Berry, Luce?" Quinn rolled her eyes when Franny accidentally slipped into using her childhood nickname again. "Rachel Berry, town hero, targeted by pompous Fabray Enterprise heiress. The public would rip you to shreds if this got out. You understand that, right?"

Quinn nodded, having heard the same in a much more vulgar terms from Santana.

"Your actions towards her are unacceptable."

"Yet, no one has ever told me otherwise in previous situations."

"I've never needed 'Red Cards' to control the students of Dalton Academy."

Quinn bristled at the statement. She didn't need reminding. "So you think you're suddenly enlightened about what is and what isn't acceptable? Newsflash, Franny, you grew up in the same world I did. Just because you held a few kids in some desert village in Africa doesn't mean you're not a part of it."

Franny's face went blank and her voice dropped the temperature of the car to a subzero degree. "Regardless of which world you're from, no one—and I mean no one—is entitled to act like an elitist tyrant."

Quinn hid the shiver in her spine by crossing her arms stubbornly.

"And your interactions with Rachel Berry is the largest form of repression, projection, and denial I have ever come across." Franny continued, her voice only slightly warmer than before.

"You do realize that a four-year Psychology degree doesn't make you a therapist, right?"

"Regardless," Franny dismissed her comment. "Your logic is absurd."

"How?" Quinn slapped her hand on the door handle the moment the car halted to a stop in the Château Fabray drive. "Tell me how. Because I've been hearing this much too often to dismiss it any longer."

"You really don't see it?" Franny—who waited until the driver actually opened her door—trailed Quinn, but at a much more leisurely pace. "You can't be that oblivious."

"I don't have time for your cryptic shit, Franny." Quinn was ripping off her leather jacket and handing it to Emma Pillsbury the moment she walked through the double doors of her home.

"You have a massive lady crush on your favorite commoner." Franny handed off her jacket as well, only just remembering to flash a warm smile to Emma. It had been a long time since the last time she'd seen her after all.

"Ridiculous." Quinn responded without missing a beat.

"Denial." Franny hummed.

"I'm not interested in women."

"We'll count that as repression."

"I thought we've already established that Rachel was the one who liked me."

"And there's the projection—Quinn, I have the distinct impression that you don't hear yourself when you speak."

Quinn tried her best to ignore Franny's laughter when she slammed the door to her wing of Chateau Fabray shut.

***

"Should I open it?"

"It's too gorgeous, isn't it?" Tina answered, high pitched and breathy.

"Absolutely gorgeous. I can't open it. I won't."

"Looks expensive." Tina squinted as a glint of light from the music store's dusty windows reflected off of the golden envelope.

"What if this is a joke? What if this is yet another elaborate way for Quinn Fabray to humiliate me?" Rachel absently fingered the embossed abstract patterns across the envelops surface, then moved to thumb the pearlescent bow tied delicately at its upper left corner.

"After you've told me what Quinn is capable of, I can't tell you that this isn't an elaborate scheme."

Rachel shot a glare at her best friend. "Thanks."

Tina held up her hands apologetically. "But this is Holly Holiday's party right?" She tried to appease. "She doesn't seem as malicious as her sister."

Rachel's eyes grew starry at the memory of her pleasant interaction with the elder Fabray sister yesterday. "She really isn't. She's actually very, very kind." Her tone grew thoughtful. "It makes me wonder where Quinn gets her attitude from."

They both started at the chime of someone entering the store. Tina moved out of the back-office door first. "I've got it." She shot a wink in Rachel's direction, then pointed towards the envelope sitting on the desk. "See what's inside."

Rachel didn't look back down at the envelope until the sounds of Tina busying herself with a customer filtered into the office. Taking a deep breath, she set her elbows on the desk in a posture that would most certainly not benefit her future career on Broadway, but gave relief to the tension in her shoulders. She lifted the beautiful envelope into the direct sunlight filtering in through the window and nearly giggled at how surreal it felt to be holding such opportunity.

An invitation.

A real invitation. At least she hoped that it was. Still, it was closest she'd come to a party invite.

She had grown comfortable with her small group of sort-of friends from the McKinley High glee club, her low standing in the school's social ladder and motivated personality made sure that her weekends were spent relatively alone. Tina was invited to off-campus outings more often than not.

Not that Dalton Academy was much of an improvement.

Rachel stared at the elegant handwriting that read her name on the front of the envelope.

Dalton had just been an experience of lucky coincidences and strange occurrences. F3's—no—Quinn's odd fixation on her was most certainly filed under the strange occurrences category. The other members of Quinn's family however…

Rachel smiled to herself at the impromptu meeting of Holly Holiday (or was it Franny Fabray), and her eyes softened at the thought of Sam's kindness since their first meeting.

Those would most certainly be filed under lucky coincidences.

Rachel suddenly straightened, setting her jaw firmly. She might as well get this over with. She stuck an index finger in its sleeve and pried apart the adhesive as gently as possible. It would be a pity to destroy such beautiful effort. She hesitated briefly before tugging a thick black card from the envelope's confines. Its upper left corner, similar to the envelope, was adorned with a silver bow, and the script was printed in a shimmering silver. Beginning with what looked like the Fabray family crest, Rachel's eyes darted across the remainder of the card.

 __

_**

Rachel Berry,

You have been cordially invited to the Welcome Home gathering for:

Holly Francis Fabray

It would be a pleasure to have your company.

Location: Château Fabray

787 Queen's Road

Time: Saturday, 30th of September, 8:00pm 

**_

"Whoa."

Rachel leapt out of her seat at the baritone voice surprisingly close to her ear. Green eyes twinkled in her direction as she clutched her sweater breathlessly. "Sam!" She squeaked and watched as he picked up the invitation she had dropped in surprise with a soft chuckle.

"It's shiny." He sent his signature half-smile and set the card carefully back on the table. "I stopped getting invitations like, forever ago."

Rachel nodded mutely in response. She was still recovering from that shock that Sam Evans was currently in her place of employment, walking idly around the small area, poking at various items that adorned the music shop backroom. His gaze paused at a dusty guitar sitting on shelf, and then to Rachel, when she cleared her throat to get his attention.

"Sam, what are you doing here?

He plucked an out-of-tune guitar string. "You never gave me an answer about Friday night." He stuck a hand in his pants pocket. "Before Quinn dragged you away, I mean.

Rachel blushed. She honestly hadn't stopped thinking about it since he first asked. "Well, Quinn is a rather…assertive individual."

"So are you going to tell me what that was all about?"

Rachel began to circle the table. "How did you find out where I worked?" She deflected.

"I asked Brittany." He shrugged, and began to circle the table as well.

As much as Rachel could not ignore the sudden flutter in her chest at Sam's unexpected appearance, she couldn't help to feel as if it were an invasion of space. This was not their normal interaction; the neutrality of the Dalton Academy choir room. Sam's obvious home-court advantage was the world of the wealthy. But here, Flanagan's Music Shop was her world, and she was decidedly unsettled that the worlds were beginning to blend.

"I met your cousin!" Rachel blurted out to chase away the awkwardness of the situation. "Holly Holiday. Or Franny. I'm not sure was to call her to be honest."

Sam raised an eyebrow, his small signal for her to continue.

"She was very kind. And was also, there to help settle the small disagreement between her sister and I."

Sam let out a low hum of agreement. He didn't seem to be surprised by the news.

The room fell silent again. Rachel, listening absently to Tina's low humming from the front of the shop and Sam, scuffing his shoe against the tiled floor.

The silence was interrupted by a distinct sound of a vibrating phone. Sam had his hand out of pocket in a flash, tapping away on the onscreen keyboard of his phone. Rachel could only look on in silence.

"How about right now?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Instead of going to the Plaza on Friday, are you free today?"

"W-well, I'm working so-"

"I'll drive."

"Sam -"

"It's not a date or anything. Nothing for you to freak out over."

Rachel paused. "It's…not?"

"Well, no?" Sam scratched the back of his head, just missing Rachel's small smile fall flat. "There's a few people that I want you to meet. I think you'll like it."

Rachel nodded mutely, but Sam took it as quiet surprise. His face split into his signature half smile and repeated his earlier statement.

"I'll drive."

***

Quinn was pacing her private living room with Franny sipping on tea on the nearest couch. Their mother was still out of town on business, a small bit of a relief despite the turmoil going on inside of her head.

Yesterday, Franny made the absurd assumption that it was she that had the crush on Rachel Berry.

Unbelievable.

Perhaps.

Sure, Quinn had begun to take an unusual amount of interest in Rachel. And perhaps, her actions could be misconstrued as being somewhat…possessive of her as well, particularly after the debacle with Sam in the cafeteria. Come to think of it, Santana had been dropping strange innuendos about their interactions since the moment Rachel made her appearance.

_"So you decided to bash her over the head and drag her to your lair." She turned to smirk at Quinn. "How very cavewoman of you."_

Quinn pinched the bridge of her nose. Oh God.

_"You knocked out a girl. You unwillingly brought her to your home. And the girl that everyone thinks you hate is currently lying in your bed. Oh my God, please don't tell me you watched them undress her."_

She felt a wave of embarrassment.

"You look like you're thinking pretty hard, Quinn." Franny's amused voice pierced through her thoughts.

Quinn whirled on her immediately. "Only because annoying siblings like you put ridiculous thoughts in my head!"

"It only bothers you because you know I'm right." Franny replied melodically.

"I do not have a crush on—" Quinn was interrupted by two sharp vibrations from her phone. She was scrolling through her alerts in an instant. Quinn's fingers tightened around her phone, her lips pursing in annoyance, and the tendrils of jealousy curling through her chest.

**'JBI Update: SPOTTED, Rachel Berry and Sam Evans at the Downtown Plaza? No word of their location. Stay tuned for more updates!'**

Quinn wasn't normally a fan of gossip; particularly gossip that Jacob Ben Israel reported. But ever since the falsified article of her physically harming Rachel was released, she registered for alerts so she wouldn't be the last to find out if lies were being spewed about her. But before she could make the decision to toss her phone out of the window, her phone vibrated steadily. She answered the call with a sharp tap of her finger.

"Did you get the-" Santana's voice filtered through the phone, but Quinn cut her off before she could finish her question.

"For how long." Her tone was sharp, and lacked the natural inclination of a question asked.

"Not sure yet," Santana sensed that Quinn was in a bad mood and answered immediately. "But rumor has it that they've just seated at the Gershwin."

"It wasn't supposed to be until Friday." Quinn ground out through her teeth.

"Yeah well, apparently that wasn't soon enough."

Quinn ended the call without a word and an almost painfully clenched jaw.

"What was that all about?" Quinn had nearly forgotten that her sister was within hearing distance. She came to a decision before she could quite process it.

"Are you hungry, Franny?"

A look of confusion crossed her sister's features at the sudden request, but she nodded regardless. "I wouldn't mind having a bite."

***

Franny and Quinn Fabray made their spectacular appearance in the Gershwin Café not twenty minutes later.

Quinn ignored the wave of waiters that swarmed their personal space to cater to their every need.

She ignored the hostess whose arms lingered a bit too long on her shoulders when her jacket was removed.

She ignored the young restaurant manager who smiled a little too lasciviously when presenting them with their finest bottle of champagne.

She ignored the world-renown chef as he personally rattled off their evening specials.

Instead, Quinn's sharp hazel eyes were darting around the restaurant searching for a familiar big-mouthed brunette. She didn't notice Franny hiding an amused smirk behind her champagne glass as she tucked her napkin neatly in her lap.

"Looking for something?"

Quinn's fingers were fumbling with her own napkin when she let out a distracted hum.

"I ordered already." Franny informed.

Quinn murmured another inattentive reply.

Franny turned in the direction that had Quinn's attention, then turned back around, her smirk growing into a full-blown grin.

"Oh look," Franny's voice was flat. "Rachel Berry is here. Quite the coincidence."

Quinn was looking around without abandon before Franny could finish her sentence. "Where? I don't see her."

Franny quirked an eyebrow. "Well look at that. It was only a doppelganger. Didn't mean to excite you without cause."

If Franny had been anyone other than a Fabray, she would have withered away at Quinn's poison-laced glare. Instead, Franny took a small sip of her champagne. "Too cruel?"

Quinn's glare intensified.

"But she is here."

"Right."

"Check the large group of seven on the patio behind me."

Quinn peered over her glass of water at the large booth filled with the now noticeable group of Dalton Academy students.

She didn't want to seem too eager, after all.

There were a few familiar faces. Mike Chang, his father, CFO of one of FE's many subsidiaries, was remembered by Quinn only due to his kindness towards Rachel when she was injured during gym class. Mercedes Jones, whose parents owned a popular chain of dentistry's in the state, in which Quinn had no personal qualms with. Artie Abrams, though Quinn didn't know much about him other than the fact he and his parents were involved in a terrible car crash, knew that he inherited quite a bit of money from his father's mattress empire. And there was Kurt Hummel, someone who was much more trouble than they were worth, and a strong-browed boy snuggled next to him who Quinn did not recognize.

But then there was Sam and Rachel, packed as closely as possible together in the crammed booth. There were smiles on both of their faces, though she couldn't help but to notice that Rachel's smile did not quite meet her eyes. As if sensing Quinn's gaze, Rachel's eyes raised to meet hers. The fork Rachel was holding clattered to her plate, and when Sam's turned to her in concern, she leapt to her feet.

Quinn's mind went blank, and the only thing she could think to do was to duck underneath the table.

This wasn't her best idea—since, "Fabray's do not hide," She whispered harshly under her breath—but it was too late to redeem herself with dignity. So she stayed put, ignoring Franny's annoying chuckle above her.

It wasn't until a pair of brown penny loafers clicked to place just beside her table, that Quinn's eyes traveled up long, tan legs, to the bottom of a Dalton Academy issued uniform skirt and—

Quinn hissed when her head connected painfully to the table's edge before standing to her full height as gracefully as possible.

She resisted the urge to rub the area that she was sure was going to bruise in a few hours.

"What are you doing here, Quinn?" Rachel words were hissed between her teeth and her arms, crossed steadily over her chest.

Quinn certainly didn't notice that Rachel had shunned her uniform tie, or that she left the first few buttons undone, or that her crossed arms were making her—

Quinn's spine stiffened as she placed her hands on her hips. "It's a restaurant, Berry. What does it look like I'm doing."

Rachel glared up at her, nose nearly to Quinn's chin. "We need to talk." And she was storming away towards the bathrooms before Quinn could muster up a witty response.

She caught Franny's amused smile, and across the room, Sam's narrowed gaze.

Quinn wasn't quite sure why she sent a smirk in his direction.

Nor was she expecting to be shoved on to the nearest bench the moment she walked through the bathroom door, but Rachel's glare silenced any amount of protest on the tip of her tongue.

"Are you stalking me?"

Quinn scoffed. "I can eat anywhere I please. Just because you happened to be here, you think—"

"I know, Quinn. Nothing is ever just a coincidence with you."

Quinn stood up from the bench to gain height advantage, but Rachel didn't budge, so it left the two standing uncomfortably close to one another. "You don't know anything about me."

"Nor do I care to! I can't say that enough"

Quinn began walking Rachel to nearest wall. "Why the hell are you here with Sam, anyway? I told you that you weren't going out with him."

"It's not what you think. Not that it's any of your business, anyway."

"Really, because it looks like a group date to me." Quinn took on an accusatory tone. More so than what she wanted to actually express.

"Sam was trying to help me recruit members for the Glee club. It was most certainly not a date." Then Rachel murmured, "He made that very clear."

Quinn's hazel eyes darted across Rachel's features, reading her reaction carefully. "But you wanted it to be a date." Her eyes flashed down to Rachel's lips. Pink and moisturized, Quinn couldn't help but to notice how close they were to hers. Particularly when Rachel let out an exasperated sigh. Her breath was warm and smelled of mint and a hint of lemon.

Startled by her train of thought, Quinn took half a step back.

Damn her sister.

"I have no idea what you mean, Quinn. But while we're here, I'd like to go ahead and discuss your behavior towards me..."

Rachel began to speak rapidly, but Quinn wasn't listening. Instead, her eyes began to wander over Rachel's features. Quinn supposed that Rachel was an attractive individual, for a commoner at least. Her hair was glossy and soft looking. Her eyes were bright and expressive. Her lips—

Quinn's eyes darted downward before she think too hard about that feature.

Rachel's body was petite, and she had already seen Rachel's lengthy legs up close. She was intelligent, Quinn could tell that much based on Rachel's use of extravagant vocabulary (correctly, at that), and she knew that Rachel had to meet high academic stipulations in order to maintain her scholarship at Dalton. She was capable of keeping up to par with Quinn during an argument, and showed little fear during their interactions. It was one of the things that made Rachel both intriguing and frustrating.

If Quinn were to have a romantic interest—on Rachel's part, not her own, of course. Franny had no idea what she was talking about—Rachel would be an acceptable candidate.

But, Quinn raised an eyebrow when Rachel began to motion wildly with her arms, Rachel was unrefined; loud-mouthed, over-opinionated, and short-tempered. Unless a person's name was Santana Lopez, those qualities could spell trouble should she became a consistent part of Quinn's world.

Quinn's gaze happened to land on Rachel's lips again the moment a small pink tongue darted to moisten her lips.

And then Quinn's brain short-circuited.

"—It feels like at every turn I see you and it's starting to drive me crazy—"

"Rachel."

"—I try to stay my distance and—"

"Rachel!"

Rachel stopped speaking immediately and tilted her head curiously, though Quinn didn't notice as her eyes continued to focus on Rachel's lips.

"You talk too much."

And Quinn swayed forward to press her own lips against Rachel's.


	11. Actions Speak Louder

"She kissed me." Rachel was staring distractedly down at her best Mary Jane's the Saturday evening of Holly Holiday's Welcome Home celebration. "She was—I was speaking to her and she just—"

Rachel eyes glazed as she remembered just how close she was to Quinn Fabray at that moment. How she could map out the light freckles on her cheeks, and count the dark pigments in her hazel eyes. How she should have noticed that Quinn's attention had shifted to Rachel's lips. How Quinn's eyes slid shut as she swayed forward and she—

"Oh my God. She kissed me."

"You've been saying this over and over since the day it happened. Your state of disbelief is getting old." Tina was tapping her fingers against the steering wheel as Rachel finally clicked her seat belt into place.

"Quinn Fabray kissed me."

"I know. Address?"

Rachel absentmindedly typed out the address into Tina's dashboard GPS. She only memorized it due to the number of times she re-read the invitation. "But she hates me."

Tina rolled her eyes. "As we've discussed many times." She glanced at Rachel before reversing out of her driveway. "You look nice by the way."

Rachel smoothed down the knee-length polka dot dress and fingered the crimson belt around her waist. "Is it really okay? It's not too much?"

"You look great." Tina reassured.

Rachel bit her lip as she drummed her fingers against her thighs for a beat. "Why do you think Quinn did it?"

She heard Tina sigh. Rachel knew that she had asked Tina this question more times than she should have, but she couldn't, for the life of her, understand why Quinn would—would—press her against the tile, tilt her head, and press her very, very warm lips—

"Just ask her. It would save us from ever having this conversation again."

Rachel shook her head, thankful to Tina for interrupting her thoughts. "And have her Red Card me again? I don't think she'd be too happy about that." Particularly since Quinn bolted from the bathroom like hell itself was on her heels when Rachel pushed her away out of panic.

"You know what I've noticed, though?"

Rachel looked curiously at Tina, whose eyes were focused on the road.

"You've been asking about Quinn's motivations, but you've never really talked about how you felt about the kiss."

Rachel wrapped her hands around her seat belt. "There was nothing to feel."

"Really?"

Rachel turned her gaze to the window. She remembered being entirely too upset with Quinn right before it happened, but when she just leaned forward and claimed Rachel's lips…

"Everything just happened so quickly, I—" Rachel eyed her hands in her lap. "It was a blur, actually."

Rachel remembered everything, and judging by the look on Tina's face, she knew this as well.

Rachel remembered her limbs locking up, as anyone would do with unexpected intimate contact. She could feel her mind short circuit when Quinn pressed her lips against hers, and just as suddenly, her senses were heightened to an incomparable degree. She remembered registering the cold tile against her back, and the warmth that radiated from Quinn in front of her. She remembered Quinn's soft hair brushing against her cheeks and the waxy film of her lip gloss. She remembered Quinn's hazel eyes slipping shut just after releasing a warm sigh, and the light scent of her perfume.

But Rachel's eyes were wide open, and her arms frozen at her sides in a strange state of numb, yet heightened, awareness. It wasn't until Quinn angled her head so that Rachel's bottom lip was trapped between her own did she feel her mind begin to buzz back into working condition. She felt her heartbeat stutter, and then her arms were pushing against Quinn's chest of their own accord.

When Quinn finally opened her eyes, she seemed dazed; her eyes cloudy with an unreadable expression and still on Rachel's lips. But when Rachel called her name, with her hands still just beneath Quinn's collar bone, Quinn blinked. Her eyes were suddenly widening with clarity.

Quinn was out of the door before Rachel could call her name again.

Tina hummed. "You're lying."

"I'm not—"

Tina peered at Rachel the moment she stopped at a red light. "Lack of eye contact."

Rachel looked guiltily to her lap.

"And your answers are short for someone who is notoriously long-winded."

Rachel crossed her arms with a huff. "Certainly because there's not much else to say."

"Right." Tina breathed out as she continued to drive. "But are we going to talk about the fact that she was your first kiss?"

"No." Rachel balled her fists and snapped a bit too quickly. "Can we change the subject please?"

But there was no need to. Tina was hunched forward, peering through her windshield at the brightly lit Fabray mansion before she could formulate an appropriate response. She let out a low whistle as she pulled to a stop just before the wrought iron gates. Rachel fared no better. Even though she had been to Quinn's home before, the structure was even more magnificent as a willing visitor. Rachel's eyes widened as the iron gates began to slowly creak open, and Tina slowly made her way up the stone drive and around the extravagant water fountain at its center.

"You weren't kidding about this place." Tina murmured, pulling into the nearest available space near the massive stone steps that lead to the home's entrance.

Rachel peered through her passenger window and gulped audibly at the sight of the countless number of limousines and various shiny high-end vehicles. At the corner of her eye she saw Tina's face redden, presumably at the state of her own dusty, compact car. They looked on in awe at the attendees who were helped out of their vehicles by white-gloved valets. The women were dressed in silky ball gowns and shoulders wrapped in expensive furs. The men dressed in pressed black tuxedos and sharp over-coats.

Rachel and Tina glanced at each other then down towards Rachel's polka dot dress in unison.

"Take me home." Rachel spoke first, but Tina overlapped her sentence.

"You'll be fine."

"I am not going in there."

"The invitation didn't specifically say that it was a black tie event. Maybe people from Dalton just like to…show off."

Rachel dropped her forehead to the palm of her hands. "I should have known." Her voice was muffled. "I shouldn't have come."

"Rachel, you—" But Tina was interrupted by a soft tap on Rachel's window. A white-gloved valet was attempting to get their attention. Rachel looked at Tina with shining eyes in a last ditch effort, but the door was opening before it could have its proper effect.

"I wish you would come with me."

Tina's smile was sympathetic. "Babysitting. Duty calls. You know I would if I could."

Rachel sighed, and ignored the valet huffing impatiently with his hand outstretched to help her out of the car. "Tina," Rachel twisted her hands together. "Thank you so much for the ride. I'll let my father know when I'm ready to be picked up and—and I'll call you when I make it home safely, okay?"

She watched as Tina nodded silently. She knew that Tina's previous plans didn't allow for her to pick her up after the party, but with her car still out of commission, and her parents working late, Tina was the only person available to do her such a favor. Yet she wished with all of her heart that Tina would have been able to attend with her.

Was it normal to feel this terrified of attending a party? She knew that she felt self conscious about the way she was dressed. Understood the shrinking feeling of inadequacy. Shivered at the tendrils of insecurity curling through her chest. But she also recognized the low thrum of excitement coursing through her veins at the thought of attending her first real party, and the adrenaline pumping through her ears at the fact that she was personally invited by Holly Holiday. She compressed the small thought at the back of her mind that Quinn would undoubtedly be in attendance, as well.

Rachel felt the valet tug her gently out of the vehicle, but she felt an even sharper tug at the back of her dress. She looked to Tina expectantly.

"Rachel," Tina looked down to her lap, then back at Rachel with a ferocity that was rarely seen. "You go in there and you show those blue bloods exactly why Holly Holiday personally invited you." Rachel nodded sharply, her heart swelling in gratitude for such a friend. "You are a great person, Rachel Berry. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Rachel knew she was being dramatic, but she couldn't stop tears from welling up in her eyes. She did not let them fall, however. No matter how fitting the display of emotion would be for the current situation, she refused to destroy her hard-spent hours of makeup application.

She waved goodbye to Tina, and she was escorted up the stone steps and through the large doors of Château Fabray before she could watch her best friend drive away. She felt her frock being tugged from around her shoulders and was shuttled down a familiar hallway towards large double doors leading to a grand ballroom.

Rachel's mouth dropped open in awe.

With marble floors so polished that the large crystal chandeliers hanging on the room's towering ceiling reflected perfectly off of its surface, and an imperial staircase at its rear made of polished dark wood and intricately designed steel railing, Rachel hardly noticed the low hum a live orchestra, nor the approach of a sneering, ill-meaning trio until they blocked her vision of the room.

"Well, look who finally decided to make her appearance." A familiar nasally voice mocked.

Rachel's face stretched into a grin that didn't quite meet her eyes. "Good evening to you too, Sugar. I hope all is well?"

"It must be normal for commoners to come late to exclusive events." Harmony added thinly.

Another girl, one that Rachel recognized as Kitty—daughter of the current Chief of Police—scanned her dress with narrowed eyes. "And apparently doesn't know how to dress for the occasion."

Rachel's face heated in a blush. She knew that she was not dressed in the most appropriate fashion, but there was no turning back now. Yet she couldn't help the stutter in her retort. "I-I read the invitation quite thoroughly a number of times and it didn't state that this was a black tie—"

"Are you slow?" Sugar interrupted. "The invitation didn't have to say anything."

Kitty huffed out a humorless laugh. "It's a weekend event after 6pm-"

"Hosted by a Fabray." Harmony finished. "What did you expect? Some low budget house party?"

The girl's giggled in unison as Rachel's face reddened even further. Regardless, she held her head up defiantly. "Your advice has been received. If you would excuse me…" She trailed off as her eyes scanned the room for familiar faces. She spotted Mike, Kurt, and Blaine (he was introduced to her as the heir to a high-end bow tie line and Kurt's significant other during their time at Gershwin's) dressed smartly in black tuxedos and conversing near a fountain of punch. Mercedes and Artie were giggling near the imperial staircase, while Sam was leaning against the far wall, looking right back at her.

But her eyes didn't stop there. Rachel couldn't help but to have her eyes drawn to the three throne like chairs in the far corner which seated none other than the F3. Brittany and Santana were scanning the room and speaking lowly with their heads tilted towards one another, and Quinn, in a lovely black dress, bright red lips, and curled hair peered around the room in neutral observation.

But just as Rachel looked in her direction, Quinn's eyes slid over to her own.

Rachel's breath hitched.

Then she let out a huff in relief—perhaps even disappointment—when Quinn's eyes only continued their journey across the room. There was no form of acknowledgement in her gaze. No form of recognition.

Rachel should feel relieved about this, shouldn't she? This was all she had been asking of Quinn since her Red Card status had been revoked; to leave her alone and pretend that Rachel did not exist.

But why did she feel the familiar sting of neglect when Quinn failed to acknowledge her, even though she was the one who kissed her without warning just days before? Perhaps she was beginning to get spoiled by all of the attention as of late. Other than the undying love and affection from her fathers, Rachel was often ignored or heavily ridiculed for the high amount of dedication to her art and sometimes overzealous personality.

Rachel supposed that her fluke of a social life since attending Dalton Academy was culminating at the night's end. The taste in her mouth went sour just by the thought.

Being unnoticed.

Being forgotten.

Rachel's eyes slid over to Quinn's features once again. Being forgotten by everyone.

Rachel didn't have the time to analyze her train of thought, because the three girls that she thought she had just dismissed were pressing into her personal space. Rachel had to back up a few steps just to peer up at their faces.

"I have no idea why Franny Fabray would ever invite a bottom feeder like you," Kitty sneered, her voice dropping from saccharine to pure venom. "But I suggest you leave now to save yourself the embarrassment."

"E-Excuse me?"

"You heard her." Sugar was now also scowling. "You have some nerve, actually showing up here."

Harmony, the tallest of the trio placed her hands on hips and ducked to Rachel's eye level. "Everyone knows she only invited you out of pity."

Rachel's gaze dropped to her shoes. She had assumed as much, but only to herself. She hated that these girls were targeting her deepest insecurities.

"Have you girls taken the initiative to greet all my guests with such a warm and personal welcome?" A silky voice interrupted their conversation. All eyes snapped up to meet sparkling hazel eyes.

The trio began to fumble immediately. Sugar stepped up first. "W-we were just showing Berry the ropes, Franny." Kitty spoke next. The sudden switch from malice to admiration in her eyes made Rachel dizzy. "It is her first high class party after all." She finished. Harmony only nodded in agreement.

"Well in that case," Franny winked in Rachel's direction. "I can take over from here."

The three girls, dumbfounded, shifted their formation to allow Franny through, with Rachel's elbow clutched within her own.

***

Quinn felt Rachel enter the room before she could actually see her.

Not that she actually wanted to. Certainly after being so thoroughly rejected when she lost her sanity for just a moment days before. One small, miniscule, much more enjoyable than she would care to admit, moment. Despite her temporary loss of control, her pride was battered and her ego, heavily bruised. Seeing Rachel while she was still metaphorically licking her wounds would be absolutely unacceptable.

Because Quinn Fabray was not pathetic.

But when the small hum of snickers rattled around the hall, she couldn't resist sliding her eyes in Rachel's direction at the entrance. At first Quinn was irritated because—well—she was late.

Very late.

For a girl who constantly preached punctuality (Quinn had overheard Rachel berating uncaring classmates on several occasions within the halls), her tardiness could not be easily excused. But then Quinn noticed her state of dress—

"…the hell is she wearing?" Quinn's eyes snapped towards Santana, sitting next to her with legs crossed in a red, off-shoulder dress. "She looks like she just stepped off the carriage in Munchkin Land." Quinn heard Brittany giggle beside Santana.

"The polka dots are making me kind of dizzy." Brittany absently adjusted the lengthy split in her white dress. "She still looks cute though, doesn't she Quinn?"

Quinn was fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose.

A large part of her felt so humiliated for the girl that Quinn had the urge to drag her away from the judgmental eyes of their peers. Another part of her was so angry—and yes, hurt—by her blatant rejection that she wanted to allow Rachel to fend for herself against the wolves that call themselves socialites.

Quinn released a sigh.

She shouldn't be feeling either way about it. In fact, she shouldn't care about Rachel at all. "Why does it matter what she looks like." She finally answered Brittany as she tossed her hair over her shoulder. "In fact, I have no idea why she's worth having a conversation about."

Santana shot her an incredulous glance, but said nothing to contradict her.

Quinn chanced another glance in the direction of the entrance the moment Rachel's eyes met her own. She schooled her features to be as neutral as possible and continued to survey the room, purposefully dismissing her. It took a lot of self control for Quinn not to smirk when she saw a flash of disappointment cross over Rachel's features at her lack of acknowledgment.

Serves the commoner right for pushing her away in the first place.

As much as Quinn wanted nothing more than to pretend that Rachel didn't exist—she clinched her fists when she spotted Franny shooing away the girl's tormentors, and scowled when Rachel's big brown eyes widened in admiration as Franny took her arm and led her further into the ball room—she wanted to confront Rachel about the kiss. She needed to confront her about the kiss.

And why she was rejected.

Quinn would claim temporary loss of sanity until the day she died, but during that bout of mindless impulse, she remembered the way her stomach flipped when her lips finally touched Rachel's, and remembered pressing her own palms against the cold tile to keep herself from wrapping her arms around Rachel's waist to draw her closer. Too soon, was one of the few thoughts that echoed in her muddled mind. Rachel was frozen, taken by surprise, and her lack of response didn't bother Quinn as much as it should have. In fact, it made Quinn want to work to get a reaction even more, so she tilted her head to deepen the kiss.

Then she felt pressure just underneath her collarbone, and it took Quinn more than just a few moments to realize that Rachel Berry was pushing her away.

Her vision finally focused.

Away from Rachel's lips, up to her eyes, big, brown and wide in shock. And then Rachel's eyebrows scrunched in—resentment? Annoyance perhaps. Quinn felt hurt and angry. Both stemming from the nagging thought at the back of her mind; Rachel wouldn't have done the same if Sam were in my place. But then a less familiar feeling began to bubble in chest. A feeling that she hadn't felt since waking up next to Noah Puckerman. Her heart rate sped and her throat began to close.

Quinn just kissed Rachel Berry.

Rachel Berry, the girl in which Quinn's sister so graciously informed her that she apparently had an attraction to, not the other way around.

An impulse Quinn would have never acted on if Franny had never came back home.

If, for once, Franny would learn to shut her fucking mouth about things she has no idea about

If Rachel wasn't so damn stubborn.

If Sam never showed interest in Rachel in the first place...

She remembered taking a step backward, then another, then bolting out of the door like her life depended on it. She didn't hear Rachel call her name as the bathroom door swung shut, and hardly noticed Franny's worried glance as she breezed by their table and out of the Gershwin's entrance.

This time, Quinn gave into the urge to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"I kissed her."

Quinn said it low enough that it was barely heard over the live orchestra, but Santana had the ears of a hunting dog, and visibly froze in her seat.

"What?"

As if sensing the tension, Brittany waved over three champagne flutes form the nearest server. Both Santana and Quinn downed their glasses in a single gulp.

"I kissed her and—" She inhaled as deeply as possible. "Oh God. I kissed her."

"Quinn," Santana breathed out, waving over another flute. "You are an outstanding heterosexual." She took another gulp of champagne and ignored the glare Quinn sent in her direction. "Outstanding."

"Franny has no idea what she's talking about." Quinn murmured, dismissing Santana's sarcasm.

"No idea about what?" Brittany interrupted another retort from Santana with a sharp glance.

"Nothing." Quinn dismissed, eyeing her own fingernails to keep from looking around the room for someone in particular.

"Rachel looks so lost." Brittany murmured into her flute, her blue eyes softening. Quinn looked up before she could stop herself.

Rachel was standing alone in the corner next to the hors d'oeuvre table, eyeing Franny as she flitted about the room, charming and entertaining her guests with bright smiles and gentle touches. Rachel was taking in everything with wide, expressive eyes, but her hands were clasped demurely in front of her, and her shoulders were tight, drawn, with insecurity.

Quinn raised an eyebrow as she noticed Rachel's attempt to make eye contact with familiar faces. The same faces, Quinn recognized, that had been enjoying Rachel's company just nights before in the Gershwin Café. Even Kurt, who was as apologetic as ever for shunning Rachel while being Red Carded (on his behalf, Quinn thought coldly), continued to pretend that he did not notice Rachel's presence in the ball room.

He was embarrassed. They all were.

But Rachel didn't look that bad. Her eyes were bright, her long hair was perfectly curled and constrained in a ponytail, and the dress—though inappropriate for the occasion, and okay, a little hard to look at without feeling out of sorts—accentuated her body quite nicely.

Though she just had a similar train of thought of feeling embarrassed for Rachel just a few moments prior, Quinn felt her blood boil at the fact that the coward that called himself her friend was abandoning her once again in her time of need. If anything he—everyone— should show nothing but respect towards the girl. Not one of them could say that they've stood toe to toe with the leader of F3 and lived to tell the story, and not one of them could say that they had overcome a Red Card punishment with their dignity in tact.

"Someone should talk to her." Brittany continued, eyeing Santana when all she did was shrug and take a sip of her champagne. "Quinn?" Before Quinn could even think about taking Brittany's suggestion, she spotted Sam, sharp as ever in a white tuxedo, sweeping across the floor with a clear destination.

Right towards Rachel Berry.

Quinn didn't realize that she had a death grip on the arms of her favorite armchair. She would later be unhappy about the crescent indents in its polished wood when it was moved back to her personal quarters, and would then fire the staff member who moved it without getting it repaired.

The smile that appeared on Rachel's face when Sam greeted her both made her heart skip a beat, and her chest bloom with the now familiar feeling of jealousy.

It was unfortunate that Franny's assessment of her behavior was beginning to make sense.

Quinn had gotten anxious to the point where she could no longer stay seated, so she wandered around the hall, dismissing empty complements on her clothing, initiating shallow conversation with Fabray Enterprise benefactors that had been invited to the event, and ignoring the numerous suitors that asked her to dance.

Her eyes were on Rachel for a good portion of the night. She watched as her eyes widened whenever Sam wandered away to do his job as a family host. How she would flinch from the sneers and snide comments of her peers. How she would smile in admiration when Franny would breeze by her with a wink and smile. How she would press herself against the wall when the main floor would crowd for a periodic waltz. How she would wave off the server's offer of champagne and request a glass of water instead.

How every now and again, Rachel's eyes would meet her own, no matter what obstacles were in the way.

It was disturbing how hyper-aware Quinn was of Rachel's presence throughout the night. Which made it difficult to understand why mid-way through, Quinn lost her. She peered around the room, knowing unconsciously that a crimson belt and a polka dot patterned dress shouldn't be this difficult to find.

But Rachel just disappeared.

She wasn't panicking. She really wasn't. As a matter of fact, Quinn was hardly worried. But it didn't stop her from grabbing her sister's arm and dragging her away from a group of common circle socialites mid-conversation.

"Where is she?"

Franny raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Who, exactly?"

"Rachel."

"So eager."

Quinn bit her tongue when Franny lifted her lips into a knowing smirk. "Don't, Fran. Just don't."

Franny gave her the look. The same look when she knew that Quinn was lying when she told her mother that it was the latest butler that broke her prized vase. The same look that she gave when she was caught Quinn kissing Noah Puckerman in the hallway closet when she was in the 6th grade. The same look she gave when she told Quinn that she might have an attraction to one Rachel Berry.

Quinn placed her hands on her waist, and focused her attention on anything that was away from Franny's knowing gaze.

"Last I saw her was…" Franny eyed the hors d'oeuvre table, then the nearest wall. Her vision then shifted to Sam, who was talking to a few classmates, with Rachel nowhere in sight. "She's probably—oh!" Franny snapped her fingers. "Check the patio. She might have wanted to get some fresh—"

Quinn was walking towards the patio before Franny even finished her sentence. The double doors were wide open, and the glow of the Olympic sized pool gave the outdoor area a surreal radiance, but the sight that met her eyes was less than appealing. A small crowd was gathered by the shallow end of the pool, and the sounds of splashing water were almost drowned out by the distinct laughter of Kitty, Harmony and Sugar Motta. Quinn only had to shove a few people out of the way before the crowd knew that it needed to part for her.

Rachel, soaked to the bone, was clinging to pool's edge by her forearms, gasping for breath. By the look on her face, Rachel's dip in the pool was unintentional, and judging by the amusement dancing in the three girl's eyes standing front and center, it certainly was not an accident.

Quinn was moving forward to help Rachel out of the pool until she felt a rough shove against her shoulder and saw a tuxedo of pure white.

"Rachel! Are you alright?" Sam's voice was full of concern, and was pulling off his jacket to wrap around the now shivering Rachel Berry. Her lips were blue and trembling, and she could barely get a response out to Sam before she was being ushered through the crowd. Quinn could only look on helplessly.

Brittany and Santana were by her side in an instant. Franny appeared just a few moments later.

"What the hell just happened?" Her sister's tone was of full barely concealed disapproval. The growing crowd seemed to collectively look down in guilt, but Franny received no response. "I'm waiting for an answer." Her tone was now no-nonsense. Harmony was the first to hesitantly step forward.

"We were—" Harmony pointed to herself, then Sugar, then Kitty. "We were getting some fresh air, and we noticed Rachel standing much too close to the pool."

"We tried to tell her to get away from the edge, but you all know just how stubborn a commoner can be." Sugar added.

"So we went to go and help her and the poor girl fell in." The smirk on Kitty's face caused Quinn to growl lowly in her throat. She felt Santana put a warning hand on her shoulder. "Good thing she was able to swim. I didn't know commoners even bothered to learn." She finished with a shrug of shoulders.

Franny looked at them for a moment, her eyes icing over to a subzero degree. Quinn smirked when she noticed that the three girls went pale by the look alone. "It's quite chilly," Franny spoke to the crowd, her eyes still on the trio in front of her. "Everyone should head back inside." As the patio began to clear, Quinn felt the bit of jealousy at how skillfully and efficiently Franny was taking control of the situation, bloom through her chest.

"Brittany." She was by Franny's side in an instant. "Follow Sam and get Rachel cleaned up. Allow her any of my clothing that may fit. I'll be up in a few moments." Brittany nodded and pranced after Sam. "Santana." She let out a low hum to show that she was listening. "Keep things running smoothly in the Main Hall." Santana sauntered away through the patio door, shooting Quinn a questioning look on the way.

"Quinn—"

"I'm going to go check on Rachel."

"No," Franny answered carefully. "You're not."

Quinn raised a challenging brow. "Excuse me?"

"Your responsibility is in the Main Hall with Santana."

"Says who?"

"Says me." Franny's tone hardened even further, temporarily turning away from the three girls now trembling next to the pool. She lowered her voice enough so that only Quinn could hear. "As you are responsible for these girl's behavior in the first place."

"I didn't tell them to do this!" Her tone was angry, but her voice just as quiet as Franny's. "Why are you putting the blame on me?"

"Because actions speak louder than words, Quinn." She stiffened at the familiar saying, one that was ground into her system from the moment she was born. "You are a leader. A leader who leads by example. An example that turned the entire school against Rachel."

Quinn looked angrily to the floor, reluctantly admitting that Franny might be correct in her statement.

Franny's voice softened, but held a sense of seriousness that caused Quinn to remember just how much she respected her older sister. "Despite any attraction you may be feeling for Rachel Berry, she will always see you as the person responsible for her torturous experience at Dalton Academy. No matter how your personal view of her changes, your past with her can't be easily dismissed. And her opinion of you can't start to change until you begin to take responsibility for your actions." Franny took a deep breath. "So now, it's time to get your head out of your ass, be a leader, and get to the damn Main Hall." Franny turned away from Quinn, dismissing their decidedly one-sided conversation.

Franny's voice then adjusted to a level meant for the three girls by the pool to hear. "There's a few things I'd like to discuss with you, ladies."

Quinn let out a silent snarl and stalked towards the patio doors and back into the warmth of the Main Hall. She also planned to give those girls a piece of her mind come Monday morning. Dalton Academy was much more familiar terrain, after all.

She approached Santana silently, neither having to say a word to one another, and began to traverse the ballroom. Their rounds once again consisted of shallow conversations neither would remember by the night's end. Light flirtation with the hapless sons of wealthy investors. The occasional dance.

And before Quinn knew it—she glanced up at the large clock hanging just above the imperial staircase—forty-five minutes had passed. With still no sign of Rachel Berry.

Quinn caught herself pacing with an irritating twitch to her wrists when she caught Santana eying her with a raised a eyebrow.

"She probably went home, you know." Santana shrugged her bare shoulder. "Hell, wouldn't you?"

Quinn didn't answer, but that didn't mean that she agreed with Santana's statement. She knew that Rachel was far too stubborn to take the easy way out.

Brittany's sudden appearance confirmed Quinn's thoughts, but Santana spoke before she could.

"Everything good with the dwarf, Britts?

Brittany nodded enthusiastically, procuring two glasses of champagne for both Quinn and Santana. "At first she was crying, you know?"A lump formed in Quinn's throat. "She really wanted to leave. But then Franny came in and—wow, I forgot how scary your sister is when she's mad, Quinn." Quinn and Santana nodded gravely, both having been on the receiving end of that anger at some point in their lives. One more recently than the other. "Franny had to kick Sam out because he was being really overbearing and asking all of these questions."

Quinn clenched her glass so hard that she was surprised that it didn't shatter. Though it did explain Sam's earlier appearance moments before Brittany when he stalked in through the service door. He had been pacing in front of the imperial stairway ever since. "That and she had to change her clothes."

"Where is she now?" Quinn couldn't help asking.

"Fran should be finishing up her hair and makeup now. I picked out the shoes and dress—Franny is so tall. It took forever to find something that fit. She looks great Quinn."

"I hope you burned the dress she was wearing before." Santana huffed. "Silver linings, am I right?" Quinn pursed her lips at the insult. Santana only nudged her shoulder playfully in response. "Get the stick out of your ass. I was only joking about your girl. Mostly."

"She's not my-" But Brittany was tapping her shoulder and pointing in the direction of the staircase before she could finish her sentence.

And time slowed down for Quinn Fabray.

She did not feel the champagne flute slip from between her fingers.

She did not hear the glass shatter at her feet, nor did she notice the abrupt wave of silence that fell across the grand hall.

She was numb to Santana and Brittany's concerned nudges and Franny's piercing gaze.

Because all Quinn could see was Rachel Berry.

Rachel Berry, getting led down the staircase by Franny, with her hair, long and so luminous that it was damned near reflective.

Rachel Berry, in a soft pink, mermaid-style gown, showing off curves that Quinn had no idea existed under her Dalton Academy uniform.

Rachel Berry, with a soft blush on her features and a downturned gaze from the sudden attention of her peers.

Quinn's feet began moving of their own accord, her vision full of glowing brown eyes and beautiful tan skin.

But then her vision was filled with white. Broad shoulders and a tall stature, she recognized her cousin as he peered down at Rachel with a half-smile on his features and his hand outstretched as a silent request to dance. Quinn's eyes fluttered when Rachel responded with a smile of her own, and then narrowed when Rachel's arms settled around Sam's shoulders, and his around her waist.

Quinn sucked in a deep breath at the sudden feeling of longing and the much stronger, familiar bloom of jealously expanding within her chest.

Time then shifted to its normal speed, the murmur of conversation, clinking glasses, and the low thrum of orchestral music startled her out of daze. Her eyes immediately sought out those similar to her own. Franny was watching her.

Inquisitive.

Analytical.

She had most likely been watching Quinn's reaction to Rachel's transformation like a hawk. Quinn felt the size of the room begin to shrink. She turned back to Rachel, now twirling gleefully in Sam's arms around the ballroom.

The room felt smaller.

And so Quinn left it.

***

Quinn didn't have to turn around from the bar to know that Rachel, of all people, was the first to seek her out. And she was the very last person that Quinn wanted to see. "I want to be alone right now, Berry." She heard Rachel sigh and tried to ignore the gentle clack of her borrowed heels as she moved to stand next to Quinn at the bar anyway.

"I'm thirsty." Was all she said. Quinn huffed when she saw Rachel peer into her cup at the corner of her eye. "What are you drinking?"

"Where's Sam?"Quinn asked instead, circling the rim of her glass with her index finger and allowing bitterness to leak into her tone.

Rachel looked downwards. "Socializing."

"Interesting." Quinn murmured. "He didn't seem too keen on letting you out his sight earlier."

"I haven't seen him in at least a half hour. And the last I saw him he was doing a rather interesting impersonation of Sean Connery." Rachel finished with a light giggle.

Quinn rolled her eyes. Her cousin had been attempting to perfect his accent for years.

He was still terrible at it.

"What are you drinking?" Rachel attempted again.

Quinn huffed a humorless laugh as she swirled the yellow liquid around her glass. "Something too strong for you."

She tried not to smirk when Rachel raised a challenging eyebrow. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"It's alcoholic." Quinn hummed. "I doubt you drink, regardless." She finally turned her gaze to Rachel—which was probably a terrible mistake, because Rachel's brown eyes, though full of purpose and defiance, were sparkling under the low lights of the empty bar room.

Quinn swallowed around the lump that suddenly formed in her throat.

"You don't know anything about me."

Quinn fingered the bit of condensation that formed at the side of her glass. "I know that you were dodging champagne glasses all night. If you wanted to drink, you would have done it by now." She realized that she just admitted to watching Rachel all night, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Rachel didn't seem to notice, anyway.

Rachel huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. Quinn's eyes flickered in attempt to keep her focus on Rachel's face. "Other than the fact that we are underage," The bartender, cleaning a glass nearby, pointedly looked in the other direction. "I'll have you know that on occasion, I'm offered Manischewitz during Shabbat."

"Kosher wine." Quinn stated in disbelief. "That's practically grape juice."

Rachel fought to hide the blush on her features as she settled her forearms onto the countertop. "I'll have what she's having, sir." She spoke to bartender, her voice determined.

Quinn tapped the countertop to get his attention as well. "Make it light. She might not be able to handle it."

"Excuse me, I requested for it to be exactly the same. I can handle it."

"It's strong." Or at least it would be to Rachel. Quinn had been mixing cocktails for herself since her parents' divorce when she was fourteen. That stressful time in her family's lives gifted her with a stronger tolerance of alcohol than most.

Rachel nodded her head firmly. "I'll drink what you are drinking."

Quinn was pleased to see the bartender hesitate, but decided to let Rachel learn the hard way. "Fine. Do what she says." She waved absently. After a few moments of the gentle clinking of glass on glass, he set the beverage on the table and Rachel eyed it with trepidation.

"This is—this is larger than expected."

Quinn raised her own glass to show that Rachel got just what she requested.

"R-Right." She tilted her head to sip on the cocktail straw, her straightened hair falling over a bare shoulder in the process. Quinn took a generous sip of her own drink, but only because her throat was dry, certainly not because she was fighting the urge to run her fingers through Rachel's hair. Both Rachel and Quinn grimaced, but for different reasons.

Rachel turned towards her again. "Are we going to discuss what happened at Gershwin's?"

"No." Quinn answered immediately, noticing that her cup was now empty. She motioned the bartender for another. "Nothing happened."

"Quinn, something did happen."

"But nothing of importance."

She watched Rachel rear back, shocked, maybe hurt. Good. That was exactly how Quinn was feeling now. "Quinn…you—you kissed me."

Quinn groaned into her drink. "And you pushed me away."

Rachel blinked. "You took me by surprise. I mean—The things you've put me through…Quinn, you hate me."

Something bubbled up in Quinn's chest. Was it frustration? "I don't hate you." She barked. Her brows furrowed and her tone gentled. But only slightly. "I never told you that."

"You never had to." Rachel answered softly. "Actions speak so much louder than words."

Quinn hummed. Hearing the same phrase twice within the same night struck a chord, as it was the daily mantra of the Fabray household. Judy Fabray could command the room with body language alone. Franny could enrapture an audience with an award winning smile. Quinn could freeze an entire room by just a glance.

Words were nothing without the power to back them.

"You're beautiful, you know." Rachel blurted. Her head, tilted in her direction. Quinn assumed that the beverage was beginning loosen Rachel's tongue. "Pretty. One of the prettiest girl's I've ever met." Quinn blushed, she couldn't help it. Not while she was on her second drink at the bar, and perhaps the fourth drink of the night. Or maybe the fifth.

"But I've seen you do some cruel things. Not just to me, to other people as well." Quinn stared into her glass. She couldn't help but to feel that some of the people got just what they deserved. She glanced at Rachel. Some people. "I want to believe that there's more than that to you."

"What did my actions speak of that night?" The words tumbled out of Quinn's mouth before she could stop herself. The alcohol was beginning to have its affect on her as well. She watched as Rachel took a long sip of her drink, right until the ice rattled at the bottom of her glass.

Rachel inhaled. "If you were a normal person," She exhaled. "I would think you had feelings for me." Rachel chuckled when Quinn furrowed her eyebrows even further. "That you had a misguided 'elementary school' complex, showering the person you like with negative attention to make them notice you."

Quinn didn't want to acknowledge that Rachel was much closer to the truth than she realized.

"But you're not normal, Quinn. And you—you are quite difficult to read."

They both went silent. Quinn absently swirling the ice cubes in her drink that seemed to never melt, and Rachel, poking at the bare ice at the bottom of her glass.

"You must hate me." Quinn broke the silence first. Her voice was low, and her thoughts were heavy with her conversation with Franny earlier that night.

"Despite any attraction you may be feeling for Rachel Berry, she will always see you as the person responsible for her torturous experience at Dalton Academy."

"I—I don't hate you." Rachel moved a bit closer to Quinn when she shot her an incredulous look. "I really don't. But Quinn, you're frightening."

Quinn furrowed her eyebrows. "I don't understand."

"You're frightening because of what you're capable of doing. Because of the power that you readily use without a thought. Power, that you've used against me." Quinn's shoulders fell. "And then you go on and kiss me and—you're such a confusing person, Quinn Fabray."

Quinn didn't respond, since she was just as confused by her own behavior as Rachel was.

***

"I want another one." Rachel was resting her chin against her forearms, which were in turn folded across the bar's marble countertop. Quinn noticed that Rachel's glass was empty, and quickly waved over the bartender to give Rachel her second drink for the night.

"Alcohol is actually really gross, you know."

"So why did you want another?"

"To prove you wrong."

Quinn chuckled. "By getting yourself drunk?"

"By showing you that I can handle it."

"You're stubborn. Incredibly stubborn."

***

Quinn hummed in amusement at Rachel's first, second, and third attempt to get the cocktail straw into her mouth the moment the bartender set Rachel's third glass of alcohol on to the table. By now, the Main Hall was emptying with the evening coming to an end, and the few stragglers that entered the bar room froze in their tracks and exited with every glare Quinn sent in their direction.

"Why does everyone in your family seem to like me, except you?" Rachel's tongue was loosening even further with every sip through her straw. Quinn couldn't quite figure out if she was thoroughly annoyed or immensely entertained by this.

"L-Like Sam," Quinn stiffened at her cousin's name. "He's so nice and sweet. And so, so loyal."

"Congratulations, you just described a Golden Retriever."

Rachel ignored her. "And Holly or-or is it Franny—" Quinn rolled her eyes when Rachel's unfocused eyes began to shine in admiration. "She's so kind, and smart, and beautiful."

Quinn sighed. "So I've heard."

"But you." Rachel poked Quinn in the chest. "You're beautiful, but you glare at me a lot. You're always so serious, and you're always around. But then you always want me to listen to you."

Quinn sighed into her drink. Was she really always so serious?

"You always wear nice shoes." Rachel tilted down to peer at Quinn's current footwear. "Like now, you're wearing Lou bee—Lou vee—Lou—"

"Christian Louboutin." Quinn corrected, her French pronunciation appearing out by habit.

"The one with the red soles!" Rachel snapped her fingers triumphantly. But then Rachel leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in Quinn's ear. "And you kiss me." Quinn tried not to shiver when Rachel's breath hit her neck. "Sam certainly doesn't do that."

Rachel leaned back, and her mouth immediately went back to her cocktail straw.

Quinn was still attempting to compose herself from Rachel's nearness, so she tapped the counter to get the bartender's attention.

"Another."

***

"Quinn," Rachel drawled, her fourth empty glass of alcohol sitting beside her on the countertop.

The room was now eerily quiet without the drone of background noise from the Main Hall, as almost all of the event's attendees were gone. The sounds of servers cleaning glasses and moving tables filtered into the bar room.

"Your face is pretty. Did you know that? Your face is really," She tapped a finger to Quinn's nose. "Really," She tapped another finger to Quinn's chin. "Nice."

Quinn was fighting the blush at Rachel's proximity.

"Like, I can't tell if I want your face or if I—" Rachel paused. "Or if I want your face." Rachel scrunched her face in confusion. "Does that make sense?"  
Quinn nearly went cross-eyed when Rachel leaned in even further. "I don't think you want my face, Quinn. You're so much prettier than I am." Rachel sighed wistfully, her breath giving away her alcohol intake for the night. "But from the other night—you know—in the restaurant bathroom, I'm sure you want my face," Rachel scrunched her nose. "But on your face. Get it?"

When Quinn opened her mouth to respond, Rachel pressed a finger sloppily to her lips. "Shush. Don't say anything. You're…you're so much prettier when you don't speak." Quinn narrowed her eyes. "When you—when you don't speak, you're not nearly as obnoxious."

When Quinn felt Rachel wobble dangerously on her feet, her arm wrapped around Rachel's waist unconsciously to steady her. "I think I need to get you home." She murmured, but Rachel's own response was to wind her arms around Quinn's neck.

"You stole my first kiss, you know."

Quinn's eyes widened, and tried to think clearly with alcohol coursing through her veins and Rachel's lips so close to her own. "I was—I don't believe you."

Rachel nodded firmly, her forehead nearly slamming into Quinn's nose. "You were." Quinn felt yet another unfamiliar feeling bubble up within her chest. A feeling that felt strangely similar to pride.

"Quinn Fabray. Oh so pretty. So pretty, and so smart. Yet so, so rude, and utterly entitled."

Quinn growled lowly under her breath, but the growl turned into a surprised purr when Rachel tugged her forward and connected their lips for the second time within the week.

Not that Quinn was complaining exactly.

But this time there was more. Alcohol gave Rachel the confidence she would have lacked otherwise in this situation. So when Rachel pulled back with a small pop to murmur, "Your lips are still warm," and dove back in, Quinn allowed her fingers to tighten across Rachel's back, and her lips to part to allow Rachel's tongue to tangle with her own.

All Quinn could feel was the heat beneath her fingers and the languid movements of lips, teeth and tongue.

And it ended much too soon.

Quinn felt Rachel's arms move from around her neck to rest her hands against her collarbone. It took longer than she cared to admit that Rachel was actually attempting to push her away.

Again.

When their lips finally parted, Quinn felt a surge of annoyance bubble up in her chest and leaned forward to follow Rachel as she attempted to back away. But Rachel's hands were persistent at keeping her away at arm's length.

For good reason too.

Quinn blinked when Rachel dry-heaved once, then twice, then keeled over and—

"You've got to be kidding me!"

Emptied the contents of her stomach right onto Quinn's Louboutin shoes.


	12. Meet the Parents

Hiram Berry jerked awake from his slumped posture on the living room couch at the sound of a pounding door. He rubbed his eyes just underneath his skewed reading glasses as a crinkled Reader's Digest fell from his chest, and absently placed the empty mug sitting in his lap on the coffee table. He fumbled for his cellphone in the pocket of his shirt.

It was two-thirty in the morning and there wasn't a single phone call from his daughter. Hiram sighed wearily. He was certainly having second thoughts about letting Rachel attend this event, particularly because she was proving to be irresponsible with her communication.

The pounding was back—a sound that he previously thought was dreamt—but this time, more insistent. He felt the beginning tendrils of fear tighten within his chest, expecting the worst.

But what met his sight when he opened the door with unsteady hands was not one that he expected; Piercing hazel eyes and shining blond hair, with his daughter—held bridal style in a dress Hiram was absolutely certain that Rachel did not own—curled into the girl's chest.

"May I bring her inside?" Though the girl's voice was low and held a sense of superiority, the strain in her voice was still apparent. Hiram stepped to the side wordlessly, motioning towards the living room couch. But just before he shut the door completely, he did a double take at the shiny silver car parked in his driveway.

That would be a question saved for later.

He wandered back towards the living room, his eyes on the blonde who was now gently settling Rachel onto the couch by adjusting her hair and straightening her bent knees. There was a tenderness in the girl's motions that Hiram already felt was not standard behavior.

Hiram rubbed tiredly at his cheeks. He was not quite sure where to begin. "While I appreciate you bringing my daughter home in one piece, I would like to know why Rachel needed your assistance to get into our home—past curfew, no less—and why she is in a coma-like state on the couch."

He watched as the girl straightened to turn in his direction. Her hazel eyes met his own directly, unwavering. "I take full responsibility for the inebriated state she is in, sir."

Hiram's eyebrows shot to his hairline. "Inebriated." His voice held no room for argument, but the blonde girl steadily continued on.

"There was a party, held in my sister's honor this evening—"

"I'm aware." Correction, he was certainly aware of the party, not that the girl standing in front of him was the sister of the famous hostess. It was even more information that he would have to file away for another time.

"There was alcohol available to those of legal age in attendance, and I'm afraid the drinks available were not properly regulated to those who weren't."

"So Rachel—"

"Consumed much more than she probably realized." Quinn finished. Her line of sight never breaking his own. "I thought that bringing her home myself would be the safest choice. She gave me her address then promptly fell asleep during the drive home. I didn't want to wake her so…" The girl finally broke her gaze when her eyes drifted to the lightly snoring Rachel Berry.

A part of Hiram was absolutely furious that Rachel had been drinking, yet a more prominent part of him was just relieved that his daughter was home safe and sound. But curiosity began to get the better of him. Curiosity as to why this girl had taken such a personal interest in Rachel. "And who are you, exactly?"

The girl's attention shifted away from Rachel's form and back to the conversation. "Quinn Fabray." She answered the question with such self-importance that Hiram decided right then and there that he would pretend he didn't know that her last name was associated with a multi-billion-dollar company. The same company that gifted Rachel with a scholarship to Dalton Academy for saving a boy's life.

"So, a friend of Rachel's? From school?"

"I—" The girl—Quinn—paused. "Yes. A friend." She finished carefully, a furrow to her brow that Hiram couldn't quite place.

"Hiram." He proffered his hand. She shook it firmly.

"It's a pleasure to meet you."

"And I assume you have consumed alcohol at this party as well?"

Quinn paused. "Well—"

"Hiram?" He heard his husbands soft voice carry from the top of their staircase. "Is Rachel home yet?"

Hiram was moving towards the staircase in view to meet him at the bottom. "She's fine, Lee." He said quietly, trying not to smile at his husband in flannel pajama pants and a purple cotton robe, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. "A friend of hers brought her home."

"Good, I was getting worried." Leroy answered with a yawn, lowering his head so that Hiram could place a customary kiss on his forehead. "Is she okay?"

"We'll discuss this fully, later." He turned to Quinn just as she ducked her head with an apparent flush to her features. Hiram's eyes narrowed. Any number of things could have caused that reaction, but due to his past experiences with the conservative population—which Hiram knew that Quinn was a part of by association alone—the cause was most likely a negative one. "Quinn?"

Her shoulders straightened immediately.

"This is my husband, Leroy. " Hiram was eyeing Quinn's reaction closely, almost daring her to say something uncouth, but to his surprise, her head tilted curiously to the left, and a visible blush rose on her features, yet her eyes met his directly. Strange girl.

"Mr. Berry." Quinn's head tilted in greeting.

"Leroy, this is Quinn Fabray." Hiram felt his husband jolt at the name, but his voice held steady and maintained its natural warmth.

"Would you like some water or tea? Coffee perhaps?"

Quinn shook her head. "I actually think I should be heading—" She looked at Rachel just as she shifted her position on the couch with a groan. The blush on Quinn's face intensified.

Interesting.

"Tea would be fine for me, Lee." Hiram answered instead. He felt that an experiment was in order. "And Quinn," Her eyes jerked to his own. "If you could help bring Rachel to her room?"

Quinn looked as if she just had her hand caught in a cookie jar, but then her features hardened in resolve and she nodded firmly. "Of course."

Hiram watched in slight fascination as Quinn knelt down to gently shake Rachel awake. Her voice was so low that he had to strain just to hear her whispered words. "Rachel." His daughter failed to respond, so Quinn shook her more firmly. "Rachel, I need you awake for just a moment, okay?" She placed a hand on Rachel's cheek when all she murmured were unintelligible words. "Wake up for me, just for a moment."

Quinn's actions were tender, and now that Hiram discovered her lineage—a family known for their icy and calculated demeanor—her behavior certainly seemed much different from her public personality. His eyebrows lifted when he noticed Quinn's small smile when Rachel finally opened her eyes, albeit unfocused.

"I need you to grab on to my shoulders, okay?" Rachel nodded, her movements so sluggish that Quinn had to help wind Rachel's arms around her own neck.

"I'm really sleepy, Quinn."

Quinn hummed noncommittally and scooped her up just beneath her knees and lower back. Rachel squealed at the sudden movement. Hiram snorted lowly.

He saw all that he needed to see.

When Quinn arrived at the bottom of the staircase he held his arms out, a silent request to hand Rachel over. Hiram watched Quinn's fingers briefly tighten against Rachel's knees before shifting her over into his arms. He had flash backs of a much younger Rachel, fast asleep in front of the television, with her favorite teddy bear, tucked just underneath her chin. She had been so tiny then, and barely stirred when Hiram cradled her into his chest just before tucking her into bed.

But now—Hiram frowned—his baby girl was in his arms for an entirely too grown up reason. Rachel was in for a world of trouble the moment she woke up in the morning, though he wasn't quite sure if he should let her inevitable hangover be punishment enough.

"Follow me." He spoke to Quinn as he began to climb the staircase. She nodded wordlessly. "We have a spare room, Quinn." Hiram heard her stumble on the steps, but his tone left no room for argument. "I would feel more at ease if you did not drive home with alcohol in your system. And despite your good intentions, my mind is still reeling at the fact that you drove here in the first place."

Quinn stayed silent, but when Hiram used his peripheral vision to gauge her reaction, she instead was peering at various family photos along the walls; camping trips, fishing excursions, singing competitions, beach vacations, Disneyworld adventures. What Hiram could not understand was why Quinn seemed so fascinated by them, particularly when her world seemed to filled with things of a more extravagant nature.

When Quinn's gaze remained fixed on one of the more recent family photos, Hiram used the opportunity to nudge Rachel's bedroom door open with his foot and settle Rachel gently onto her bed. With a kiss on her forehead, and the whispered promise of aspirin when she awakened, Hiram spun around only to see Quinn steadily observing their brief interaction.

Hiram cleared his throat. "I'll show you to the guest room, unless you actually wanted tea…"

Quinn quickly shook her head. "I'm fine, but thank you regardless."

He passed her through the doorway and led her just a few doors down to the guestroom; powder blue walls, white sheets and yellow accents. Leroy was the one responsible for its decoration. "I hope this will suffice?" Hiram asked rhetorically, but Quinn nodded anyway.

Hiram watched as Quinn seated herself stiffly at the side of the bed. Her gaze shifted to the window, which seemed to be a polite dismissal, but her thumbs twiddled restlessly, and her legs bounced steadily against the carpeted floor.

"Do you need anything else, Quinn?"

Quinn glanced up at him, then back towards the window, but this time with a bite to her lip and slight blush on her cheeks. Hiram waited patiently.

"How long—" She inhaled, steadying herself, then met his gaze directly. "How long have you been married to your husband?"

Hiram felt his spine stiffen. "Many years." He answered shortly. "Leroy has always been better with numbers."

Quinn must of sensed that he was on edge because she backpedaled immediately. "I didn't mean to overstep my bounds. I was just—" Quinn's voice was soft as she laced her fingers together. "Curious."

Hiram forced his shoulders to relax as he couldn't quite pick up any form of ill-intent in her voice.

"I was looking at the pictures of Rachel—your family and—" Quinn tilted her head. "You look genuinely happy."

Hiram went silent. It suddenly hit him that Quinn's fascination with their family photos might be easier to decipher than he previously thought. His thoughts went to the headlines of newspapers and gossip articles just a few years ago, outlining the messy divorce between Judy and Russell Fabray. At the time, Quinn was young enough to be sympathized by the media, yet old enough to remember and experience the constant invasion of their privacy; to understand that ingenuity was often necessary for the sake of being in the center of one of the largest controversies in the business world.

"I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. It was out of line for me to ask."

Hiram shook his head, dismissing the apology. "Actually, I must apologize to you, Quinn. My defensiveness stems from being a part of a...non-traditional family," He sighed. "In a place that is not as accepting of it as the media likes to portray."

Quinn hummed neutrally.

"But I will say that we look genuinely happy, because we are genuinely happy. Happiness that you will find one day, I assure you." Hiram watched Quinn's eyebrows draw together. "Rachel is the best thing that has ever happened to us, for example."

Quinn's gaze snapped towards his own at the mention of his daughter's name.

Hiram's voice grew serious. "Happiness often comes in unexpected forms." He allowed a moment of silence before clapping his hands together, startling Quinn out of her thoughts. "This leaves me once again expressing my gratitude for bringing her home." Quinn nodded with a half smile, though seemingly distracted. "And this is where I bid you goodnight. "

Quinn blinked. "Of course. Keeping you up so late was not my intention."

"Of course." Hiram winked, and he was out the door and in his master bedroom just moments later, where Leroy was waiting with two steaming cups of tea.

"Hiram, what—"

Hiram quietly shushed him, turned off the lamp nearest to him and pressed his ear against the door. He was silent for a long moment, ignoring the huffs of impatience coming from his husband. "Just a few more minutes, Lee." He whispered.

Another moment passed, and then he heard it, the gentle click of the guestroom door opening and quiet footsteps. At this point Quinn was either leaving their home or—

Hiram recognized the familiar creak of Rachel's bedroom door. He smiled a knowing smile.

"I'll tell you everything in the morning."


	13. Don't Be Late

Rachel woke up with a pounding headache, rolling stomach, and none other than Quinn Fabray fast asleep in a chair next to her bed. The thought barely registered before she was leaping from underneath her covers and racing to the bathroom to empty the contents of her stomach.

By the time Rachel returned to her room, Quinn was awake and peering at her through heavy eyelids and a frown on her features. Rachel froze in the doorway, unsure if she was truly registering that Quinn Fabray was currently in her home—in her room—with crossed legs and perched on a decorative chair next to her bed. "Q-Quinn!" Rachel's voice cracked, most likely due to the fact that her throat felt like it was lined with sandpaper. "What are you—"

"How can you possibly have anything else to throw up?" Quinn interrupted. Her voice was heavy with sleep and laced with annoyance. "I was certain that you left most of what you ate on my marble floors," She narrowed her eyes. "And on my custom made Louboutin shoes."

"I—" Rachel's eyes were wide. "I apologize for that." She shifted unsteadily on her feet when Quinn only continued to stare at her with an unreadable expression.

"Do you—" Quinn started. The room was dim as it was still before sunrise, but Rachel could just make out the muscles in her neck as she swallowed. "Is this something that you remember doing?"

Rachel went silent. She knew the question that Quinn was truly trying to ask.

"I—" Rachel glanced down feet, only to realize that she was still wearing the borrowed dress from the night before. "I remember." She glanced up at Quinn through her eyelashes, noticing that she was still wearing her dress as well, but different shoes. Rachel swallowed, guilty. "I certainly remember enough to abstain from drinking for a very long time."

Rachel heard Quinn huff, though she was not quite sure if Quinn was agreeing or disagreeing with her statement.

But then Rachel's eyes widened. "You brought me home." Rachel walked with trembling legs through the room until she was sitting on the edge of her bed facing Quinn. "But why? We were in your home already."

Quinn rolled her eyes. "I don't need to remind you what happened the last time you woke up in a bed that wasn't your own."

Rachel felt blood rise to her cheeks, but raised her head defiantly. She tried to not wince when the pounding in her head worsened at the action. "Good girl. That means you're learning."

Quinn scowled. "I'm not a dog to be trained."

"Oh God." Rachel's eyes widened when the realization of what being at home entailed hit her. Rachel rested her head in her hands when the pain increased. "My parents. They're going to kill me!" She shook her head wildly. "I feel like I'm going to be sick."

Quinn's widened. "Go to the bathroom right now."

Rachel paused, then her voice took on an accusatory tone. "What did you tell them?"

"The truth." Quinn voice took on a dangerous edge. "And showing gratitude that I went out of my way to bring you to your ridiculously small home in the middle of the night wouldn't hurt either."

"You will not—" Rachel whispered harshly. "You do not get to toss veiled insults. Not here. Not in my home." Rachel took a deep breath through her nose to fight off the nausea, then exhaled through her teeth. "This is my sanctuary, Dalton is yours."

Quinn leaned back in the chair and stared at Rachel for long moment before finally nodding in assent.

"What did you tell them?" Rachel questioned again, softer.

"That you were inebriated."

Rachel blinked slowly. Suddenly feeling tired, she shifted herself until her head rested comfortably on her pillows. "And?"

"Your f-fathers were concerned, of course." Rachel didn't have the energy analyze why Quinn stuttered over that particular word. "But they seemed understanding. And they offered to let me stay in the guest room."

Rachel's eyes began to feel heavy as she swallowed down the taste of bile in her throat. "If you were offered the guest room, why did I wake up to you in my room?"

Quinn didn't respond, but Rachel bet that if her eyes were at least partially open, she would see Quinn blushing fiercely.

"I felt it though, last night at the party." Rachel hummed as her breathing began to even. "Even though we're probably never going to talk about this again. "

"Talk about what?" Quinn murmured wearily.

"I felt you…" Rachel was beginning to drift off. "…kiss me back."

She thought she heard Quinn take in an unsteady breath.

"I felt your arms tighten around me and—you kissed me back, Quinn. It's making me think…" Rachel knew she was probably making no sense at this point. "The first time you kissed me wasn't just a mistake."

If Quinn had a response, Rachel certainly did not hear it, since she promptly fell asleep after those words were spoken. But when Rachel woke up later that morning with a rough throat and a throbbing headache to find no trace of Quinn Fabray, she was beginning to feel that their conversation was just a figment of her imagination.

The next thing Rachel remembered that morning was her fathers' stern gazes as she stumbled into the kitchen for a glass of water for her parched throat and aspirin for her immense headache. They were quick to let her know that she would not be seeing daylight save for work and school for the next two months. Not that Rachel thought it would be any different from her normal routine—she worked with her best friend, and the only real extracurricular activity she experienced was the Glee Club at McKinley High.

Rachel did not have enough of a social life to truly experience its loss.

"You'd think the excitement of F3 arriving on campus would wear off by now, right?" Kurt murmured to Rachel as the members of F3 swept through the entrance hall. They were at their usual perch on top of the entrance way staircase, and Rachel could not help the small huff of annoyance when the students of Dalton Academy parted like the Red Sea to allow them to pass. "It was fun for the first few weeks, but you have to agree that the novelty is wearing off."

"I don't remember ever feeling excitement about their arrival, I assure you." Rachel's eyes unconsciously zeroed in on the F3's blonde leader. "Anxiety seems like a much more familiar emotion." Kurt hummed noncommittally as Rachel unconsciously bit her lower lip, waiting with bated breath for Quinn's usual glance in her direction.

It never came.

There were no glances from any members of the F3, for that matter. They breezed through the corridor with heads held high, and Rachel couldn't stop the feeling of disappointment from sinking into her chest; the same feeling of rejection that she felt at the beginning of Holly Holiday's party. A feeling that she had no desire—no reason—to be feeling at all.

She turned on her heels and began to make her way up the staircase as the crowd began to clear, barely listening to Kurt rambling beside her. Her emotions were inconsistent, crashing relentlessly then receding within her chest. She was torn between the feeling of hatred and the hesitant attraction towards one Quinn Fabray. Her mind was telling her to cease her thoughts of shimmering blonde hair and hazel eyes. To ignore Quinn's soft lips and velvet tongue. To remember that behind Quinn's beautiful features and melodic voice was a malicious bully who had no concern for anyone or anything that did not benefit herself.

To ignore that Quinn Fabray was the only person she had ever kissed.

Rachel tried to think of Sam, a person who was strong, loyal and caring. She thought of his musical inclinations; his messy hair and sparkling green eyes. She remembered his kindness, and the frown of disgust on his features aimed towards her attackers that awful day in the choir room.

Rachel arrived at her locker without remembering exactly how she got there. Kurt was still speaking when she opened her locker to retrieve school books for the day, but she once again retreated within herself in attempt to map out her convoluted feelings.

She remembered thinking of Sam in his pure-white tuxedo. How the suit jacket fit perfectly over his broad shoulders. How his arms felt heavy, yet comforting around her waist. How she could smell his cologne as she settled her arms around his neck as they danced. She imagined leaning in to kiss him at that moment. She imagined how his lips would have felt if he pressed them to her own. But Rachel's mind betrayed her, transforming Sam's broad shoulders into a leaner, more feminine figure. To slender fingers gripping tightly at her waist and curves pressed against her frame.

Rachel gasped before pressing her forehead against her metal locker—cool to the touch and easing the tension away from her temples.

She remembered warmth, a breathy sigh, and the smell of perfume. She couldn't stop thinking about it. Rachel found herself wishing for the loss of memory from the alcohol intake just nights before.

Rachel was not attracted to Quinn Fabray. She couldn't be.

Rachel should not be attracted to Quinn Fabray. Not after everything she put her through.

"Rachel," Kurt's voice jolted her from her thoughts. She noted the concern on his features. "Are you alright?"

"Just a headache." She murmured without looking in his direction.

Kurt rustled through his backpack and produced a bottle of ibuprofen. "I'm always prepared." He shook the bottle playfully. "But were you listening to anything I just said?"

Her attention shifted away from her locker and towards Kurt. "Not really, no." She answered honestly—and maybe a bit shortly. Judging by the wounded look that crossed his features, he certainly understood why. Rachel wasn't going to pretend to not be bitter that Kurt hardly acknowledged her at Holly Holiday's party. Whether he truly didn't see her, or he was truly embarrassed by her appearance, Rachel could not ignore that every time she attempted to get within smiling distance of Kurt, he would mysteriously disappear into the crowd.

Rachel resolved to accept that Kurt's friendship would not extend past the walls of Dalton Academy, but she refused to hold it against him. In a bizarre, external way, she understood his hesitancies as to what being her friend entailed. She understood that the constant fear of the F3's wrath, should he misstep, was a fear that could not be easily shaken. Her voice softened. "Just distracted, that's all."

Kurt fiddled with the straps of his messenger bag, probably wondering if he should address the pink elephant in the room.

He did not.

"I was just wondering if you were ready for our first Glee club meeting." Kurt said instead.

Rachel froze.

"We told everyone that we were meeting today after school—last week at Gershwin's, remember?"

Rachel shouldered her backpack with a huff and made her way past him to get to their first class. "Of course I remember!" She did not remember at all, thanks to the events that occurred shortly thereafter. "I even have a number of sets to start practicing for Sectionals. I've narrowed it down to ABBA and Journey." She internally cringed at her impromptu selection. "—B-But nothing is set in stone. We can discuss this during the meeting. " Rachel was walking briskly down the hall before she could receive a response.

She had until the end of the day to put together a set list draft, create a list of audition songs that could perfectly showcase vocal ranges, put together fundraising activities, begin narrowing down instructors who could be sponsors, preferably those with a performance arts background—

Preoccupied with her thoughts, Rachel did not notice her surroundings until her forehead collided with someone's shoulder.

"Watch where you're going, Smurf!" She heard Santana snarl first, then watched absently as Brittany spun around to place hands on her shoulders to steady her.

Next, she heard a slow, intake of breath near the doorway of the classroom. "Do you make it a habit of never paying attention to your surroundings?" Quinn drawled. Her arms and legs were crossed, with a shoulder propped against the mahogany door frame.

Rachel felt her anger flare up at the comment, but immediately took deep breaths in order to calm herself down. She was the one at fault in this situation, even though she wanted nothing more than to fling a few insults in Quinn's direction. "S-Sorry." Rachel wasn't sure why she stuttered, but she certainly hoped it had nothing to with the low sparkle of amusement in Quinn's otherwise serious demeanor. She was wearing a dress today; white, floral patterned and hemmed just above her knee, accented with a red cardigan pulled tautly over her arms and torso. Her lips were ruby-red and her hair was pulled back to show off her sharp features.

The same ruby-red Rachel tasted at Holly's party.

"Stare much?" Rachel started at Santana's voice.  
"I wasn't—" Rachel began to defend, but Santana's smirk left no room for argument. She heard Brittany cover her giggle with a false cough and felt her eyes wander back towards Quinn—whose features remained stoic. Quinn huffed and pushed herself off of the door frame, inattentively watching as Brittany and Santana sauntered into the classroom and clicked the door shut behind them, leaving Quinn and Rachel alone.

Rachel crossed her arms defensively when the hallway fell silent.

"What are you doing here?" Quinn began without preamble.

"This is school, isn't it? Why else would I be here?"

Quinn shrugged one shoulder, unfazed by Rachel's aggressive reply. "Don't be a smartass. I wasn't trying to—" Quinn sighed. "This is our private hallway, so."

"Private?" Rachel's irritation changed to that of surprise as she peered around the hall. So she might have missed a turn.

Or three.

Indeed the hallway that she was currently standing in met a dead end, but was also decorated differently from Dalton's typical classroom hallways. From marble floors to—Rachel peered down at her feet—soft, beige carpeting, pendant lighting focused on landscape photographs hanging along both sides of the wall, brass tables with colorful flower arrangements on its surface—  
"No other student would dare to cross that threshold." Quinn pointed to the arched frame that marked the hallway's entrance.

"Well I'm not a normal—"

"So why are you here?" Rachel bristled at Quinn's interruption. "Unless," Quinn took a step forward. "You're actually here to see me."

This was an admittedly bold statement on Quinn's part. Rachel took in the blonde's features, head held high, her arms folded across her chest. Quinn looked entirely too confident. But there was a barely-there softness in her voice that could be heard if one listened closely enough.

"Absolutely not!" Rachel blurted before her thoughts could wander into territory that she had no interest in exploring. "I can't remember a time where I've sought you out intentionally. I'm certainly not going to begin now."

"Right," Quinn raised an eyebrow. "Like you didn't intentionally seek me out Saturday night."  
Rachel inhaled deeply and said nothing to contradict the statement. She couldn't, not without lying through her teeth. At the time, she was still shaken from being pushed into the pool, still felt the sting of rejection from her classmates—from Quinn, and after being gently dried off and dressed by Brittany and Holly, felt overwhelmed by the sudden attention from her peers. When Quinn disappeared, it showed Rachel exactly how hyper-aware she was of Quinn throughout the night.

It was unsettling.

But something that felt ridiculously like concern twisted within her stomach and prompted her to seek Quinn out at the bar. And if Rachel was being honest with herself, staying to converse, drink, and ultimately kiss Quinn, was not necessary for a simple checkup out of concern.

The hall went silent again when Rachel stared at her feet and Quinn tapped her fingers impatiently against her forearm.

"Rachel, I need to ask you—"

The five minute warning bell rang, both startling Rachel and causing her to shoot a gracious thank you to the heavens. She took a step backwards, eyeing Quinn cautiously. "I can't be late."  
When Quinn didn't say a word, Rachel spun on her heels and began to make her way towards the sciences hallway. But then she paused, took a deep breath, and marched determinedly back towards Quinn, who had not moved an inch.

"I don't think I've—" Rachel cleared her throat. She might as well get it over with while she could. "Properly thanked you for bringing me home safely Saturday night."

"You're right. You haven't. " Quinn responded, deadpanned.

Rachel balled her fists and clenched her teeth, physically preventing herself from doing something that she would regret. "So, thank you, Quinn. That was actually very kind of you to do something like that."

She watched as Quinn's arms dropped to her sides in quiet surprise, then watched her features shift back to her normal visage of indifference, though her eyes seemed unable to meet Rachel's. "Whatever, Berry. It's not a big deal."

Rachel ducked her head in order to meet Quinn's gaze again. "But it really is."

They stared at each other for a moment; Rachel, with her hands tucked into her cardigan pockets and Quinn, whose eyes seemed to be out of focus.

Rachel took the moment of silence to glance down at her wristwatch and let out a panicked gasp. "I have to go!" She spun on her heels and all but sprinted to the end of the hallway without waiting for a response.

"Rachel!" Quinn called.

Rachel huffed, but halted her steps anyway.

"I—" Quinn glanced down at the carpet beneath her feet, hesitant, but then her neutral features transformed into a smirk . "Remember that it's rude to be late, commoner."

Rachel stomped her left foot with a huff before making a dash towards her chemistry class. Even with a minute and fifteen seconds left to make it on time, she grudgingly allowed a small smile to flit across her features. Somewhere deep down in her conscious, she knew that Quinn was teasing her.

But that did not make Quinn any less insufferable.

And Rachel absolutely refused to think about how Quinn's smirk made her impossibly more attractive, or how much Quinn could change the world if she smiled a truly genuine smile. Because she had more important things to think about, like being on time for class. Or the impending quiz on the assigned reading she barely skimmed over during the weekend.

Rachel certainly did not have the time be thinking about Quinn Fabray's ruby-red lipstick.

***

"No, no, no."

Quinn pressed her back against the classroom door the moment she slammed it shut. Her breathing was unsteady, and her hands were shaking uncontrollably. Her heart was beating so rapidly it felt as though it was going to hammer right out of her chest. She needed some fresh air. She needed—

"Quinn?"

She needed space. The room was warm.

Too warm.

"No, no, no—" She was repeating herself over and over. It was the only word she could process. She touched a hand to her neck, then to her ponytail to yank out her hair-tie. She felt so constricted.

"You're freaking me out, Q."

She needed to get out quickly. The room was too small and closing in. She tried to take in deep breaths to calm herself, to rationalize, but her lungs rattled in her chest and her legs felt weak. She felt herself slide against the door to the floor.

"Quinn!"

She felt herself being surrounded. She couldn't breathe.

"I need space!" She shouted without meaning to. "I need—" She ran her fingers through her loose hair. "Just give me a moment to—" To what, think? Her thoughts were slipping in and out of her conscious. Too quickly to decipher them, too disoriented to keep them in one piece.

"Get her some water." Water sounded good. Her lungs were beginning to burn.

"Hey, I need you to focus on me, okay?" She felt hands on her shoulders.

She shrugged to remove them, shaking her head rapidly. "I don't—I can't be touched right now." She clutched at her chest. It felt tight, and was beginning to squeeze even tighter. She needed to think. She needed—

She stood from her slumped posture on the floor and made her way to the glass patio doors at the back of the classroom and out to the connected balcony overseeing the recreational field. She felt cool air sweep across her cheeks and already felt her muscles begin to grow lax.

Quinn finally felt as though she was able to breathe again. Her chest was still heaving, but even that was beginning to slow as she took in the fresh air, slowly easing the burn in her lungs. Her thoughts were beginning to slow; to solidify. She closed her eyes to steady her breathing even further, and allowed her practiced progression of thought to take place.

First, she laid out her observations. Her inability to think clearly, the tightness that she felt in her chest, her rapid breathing, erratic heartbeat, and her bout of claustrophobia indicated that she was having a panic attack—something that she had experienced only a few times in her lifetime. Her most recent one of this caliber being just two years ago when—

She took a deep breath and shook her head to clear her thoughts, making a conscious decision not to think about the mistakes that she made in the past, but to focus on her current predicament. Her short-statured, loud-mouthed, middle-classed predicament.

And essentially, her trigger.

Which led to Quinn's second step in her progression, analyzing how Rachel Berry could initiate such an extreme reaction out of her by just a few words and that—that look. That look when she peered up at Quinn through her eyelashes; so genuinely thankful for such irrelevant actions. She told Quinn that she was kind. A descriptor that people would use to refer to Franny, maybe. But Quinn? Quinn was frigid, aloof and impenetrable.

Yet she seemed to soften at the words of a commoner. It was a jarring realization.

Quinn's mission today had been to avoid Rachel at all costs, even to opt out of their ritualistic stare-down in the entrance way in order to avoid any and all alien emotions from stirring up within her chest. It was harder than Quinn would have liked to admit, barely managing to stop herself from even glancing in her direction.

But then Rachel, walking rapidly and mumbling to herself (which Quinn grudgingly thought was sort of endearing), ran headfirst into Brittany just in front of their classroom. At this point, Quinn couldn't stop herself from interacting with Rachel if she tried. Certainly not when she was in such close proximity.

She knew she was in trouble the moment she started noticing the little things; the way Rachel tucked stray pieces of hair behind ear, how she would fiddle with the lapels of her uniform blazer and the pockets of her cardigan, how her eyes would glint in defiance whenever she spoke.

Quinn sighed and rested her forearms against the marble balustrade. Rachel Berry was entirely too distracting. So distracting that Quinn allowed words to fall from her lips that were intended for her mind only.

"Unless," Quinn took a step forward. "You're actually here to see me."

She forcefully ran her fingers through her hair at the memory, frustrated both because she said it at all and because deep down, she actually wanted it to be true. Something deep down inside of her was thrilled at the idea of Rachel confronting her about her dismissal this morning. 

About Quinn's sudden disappearance from Rachel's home.

About Saturday night's kiss.

Because that meant Rachel was as drawn to Quinn's presence as much as Quinn was drawn to Rachel's. It would mean that this attraction was not one-sided.

God—Quinn groaned aloud—was she actually admitting to being attracted to Rachel Berry?

Quinn allowed her head to drop to her forearms. Damn Franny for putting stupid ideas in her head. Damn herself for losing control and kissing Rachel for the first time in Gershwin's. Damn Rachel for kissing her breathless Saturday night.

Her mind began to race once again. The implications and consequences of her actions suddenly becoming very real; the fact that she was developing feelings for a girl, the media backlash if anyone were to find out, the conservative reputation of Fabray Enterprises, the social class differences between their families, her previous cruel actions towards Rachel—

She felt her chest seizing again, the thoughts becoming too overwhelming. But then she felt Santana's presence next to her after a few moments of shallow breathing, and she took the proffered cup of water out of her hands without saying a word.

Quinn downed the water in three large gulps.

They stood in silence; Quinn, absently observing a game of lacrosse on the field, while Santana eyed her steadily with a serious expression.

"So," Santana began, shifting her gaze to her fingernails. "The gay panic set in."

"I don't have time for your crap, Santana," Quinn hissed and moved away from the balcony. But Santana snatched Quinn's arm and yanked her to her previous position. "Let me go."

"Listen," Santana's gaze softened but her voice and grip on Quinn's arm did not. "You're running away from the wrong person right now. Someone who has had a very similar experience to how you're feeling."

"I can guarantee you that it's not the same—"

"Four people."

Quinn blinked. "What?"

Santana released her grip on Quinn's arm and turned to face the field. "Do you have any idea what I went through when I came to the realization that I was DeGeneres levels of gay? When I realized that I was a lesbian?"

Quinn flinched at the word. She couldn't help it. "I'm not a lesbian."

Santana shrugged, still not facing her. "I destroyed an entire wing of my home." She said quietly. "Rare paintings? Ripped to shreds. Centuries-old vases? Broken. I punched walls and knocked over bookcases."

Quinn moved a bit closer to Santana, unsure of what to say.

"After abuelita—" She let out a sigh. "My grandmother found out that I loved...women, she practically disowned me. I accidentally put three staff workers in the hospital that night."

She moved even closer to Santana until their shoulders were brushing. Neither were sentimental by nature. "I knew you had a hard time, S. But I didn't know about any of this. About your grandmother—"

"Water under the bridge. Plus my dad wasn't nearly as concerned about my sexuality as he was of me taking over the business one day."

Quinn hummed, not surprised by the acceptance of Santana's father. Though If Quinn's mother ever caught wind of her association with Rachel Berry she would—Quinn shook her head. She didn't even want to think about what Judy Fabray would do to the Berry family to protect their family reputation.

"But wait," Quinn says, Santana's words finally catching up with her. "Earlier you said four people."

She felt more than heard Santana's intake of breath. "Yeah." A guilty look crossed her features as her eyes flickered towards the classroom. "But you kind of already knew."

Quinn followed Santana's brief line of sight directly towards Brittany, sitting cross legged on a mahogany desk and chatting amicably to their private tutor who had most likely arrived sometime during Quinn's internal musings. She narrowed her eyes, slowly putting together Santana's words.

"Last year." Quinn's voice took on an edge of anger. "She told me she fractured her tibia dancing."

"It was accident." Santana's voice grew indignant. "It was—an accident that could have been prevented if I were in the right state of mind." She let out a sigh. "Brit was just trying to calm me down, to get me to look at her. And we were standing too close to the stairs, I—"

"Santana—"

"I shattered every mirror I could find just because I couldn't stand to look at myself." Her tone was self-deprecating.

"I would probably never forgive you for that, you know," Quinn stated honestly. But then she flinched inwardly, remembering all the attacks she ordered on Rachel, including one that could have ended with serious consequences.

Both Quinn and Santana were destructive idiots.

Santana went silent for a moment, and Quinn figured that Santana was still having a hard time forgiving herself as well. But in an instant, Santana's sarcasm came back in full force. "Well it's a good thing I'm not dating you, Quinnie."

"Never ever call me Quinnie again, ever. And I'm still not sure where you're going with this."

Santana shrugged, unaffected by Quinn's icy tone. "I guess the point I'm trying to make is that my gay panic dick is bigger than your gay panic dick."

"It can't be gay panic when I'm not—"

"Yeah, whatever. But you're still hot for Rachel Berry."

Quinn turned to lean against the balustrade, once again facing the field. She wanted nothing more than for this conversation to end.

Santana mirrored her actions. "Look, you kissed her, not once, but twice."

Quinn jerked away from Santana. She knew that she let the first kiss at Gershwin's slip to her best friend, but the second one... "Twice?"

"I saw you at the bar at the party. And to be honest, if you wanted to be discreet about it, Q, that sure as hell was the wrong place to be."

"Who else?" Quinn clenched her fists, attempting to keep calm. "Who else saw?"

"Brittany." Santana shrugged as Quinn nearly sighed in relief, though Quinn's shoulders were still drawn tight. "Relax, Q. Everyone else already left. Hell, we left too when you looked ready to rip Berry's clothes off."

Quinn blushed at the statement, hardly ready to have that train of thought.

"Look, Q." Santana's tone grew serious. "I know you're thinking really hard about this, about the pros and cons, everything. I've been there. But you're trying to cross bridges that haven't even been built yet, hence the panic."

Quinn nodded slowly, surprised that Santana was actually making sense right now.

"Would—whatever this is—benefit you?" Santana questioned, unknowingly echoing Quinn's final progression of thought.

"I—" Quinn paused as she thought carefully about her answer. "At this point, no it wouldn't."

Santana eyed Quinn's rigid posture. "But you still know you're attracted to her."

Quinn did not respond.

"And you also know that you can't fully weigh your options until you find out if she's worth the trouble."

"So was Brittany worth it? Was she a benefit?"

"I knew I loved her long before I came to any realizations about my sexuality." Santana answered without a second thought. "Yeah, she was worth it."

"And you still panicked."

Santana paused. "Yeah."

"What next?" Quinn asked quietly, hating to admit that she was asking for advice.

"You grovel," Santana snorted. "You get to know her, if you dare. She's a brat."

Quinn chuckled, ignoring the insult. "What am I supposed to do, ask her on a date?"

Instead of the chuckle she thought Santana would return, Quinn was met with a pause and an incredulous look. "Actually, I—" Santana blinked. "Yeah. Exactly."

Quinn stared at Santana, waiting a few moments for her signature smirk to appear.

It never came.

"You're joking, right?" She watched Santana push herself off the banister and swagger back towards the classroom. "I never asked anyone out on a date a day in my entire life!" She shouted after her. And Quinn was telling the truth. All of her past suitors approached her first. "So why would I suddenly start now? With Rachel Berry of all people?"

"Don't actually call it a date, you moron."

"What am I supposed to call it then?" Quinn snapped back.

"A rendezvous, a meetup, an appointment, a hang out. Who the hell cares?" Santana tossed over her shoulder. "For all anyone knows, you can just be meeting a friend."

Quinn pursed her lips, watching her go. Then she felt the gears begin to turn in her head. God she hated when Santana was actually right about something. And the only reason she was considering doing something so out of her depth was to get to know Rachel, just to see if she was worth the trouble. Nothing more.

"Meeting a friend..."

Yet that thought did not stop the bubble of anxiety from rising into her chest.

***

"You're joking!" Tina exclaimed. "All over her designer shoes?"

Rachel nodded, hiding a giggle behind her hand. "She wasn't very happy with it."

"But she seemed pretty happy with you before." Tina winked as Rachel blushed. "Your dads must have been livid with you coming home so late."

"Trust me, they were. Grounded for two months, as a matter of fact."

Tina winced. "Yikes."

"And Glee club was awful today. Just awful."

"Yeah?"

"No one, and I mean no one could agree on anything! We couldn't decide on who would lead the club as captain even though I would be the obvious choice from my previous experiences, song choices, arrangements, fundraisers, and so forth. People were claiming to be in vocal ranges they clearly were not in! Kurt is just as much of a diva as I am, so he was of no help. Sam's commentary was especially redundant—"

"It sounds like you guys need an adult."

"Correction, we need a director. It was an utter disaster. There's no way we could be ready for sectionals this year if this behavior keeps up. And I'll be the one that ends up doing Santana's laundry or some other unruly punishment if I can't come up with the money."

Tina chuckled as they began to busy themselves with routine chores around the store, since they had not accomplished much in the past couple of hours while they had been talking. Rachel had spewed every detail that had been going on in her life for the last few days. She had no one else that she could really vent to and saying the events out loud allowed her to better process her thoughts about a certain individual.

"And don't even get me started on Quinn Fabray..." Rachel huffed, grabbing the nearest cleaning cloth.

"Your life feels like a movie nowadays, Rachel. So much more interesting than the boring stuff going on at McKinley."

"Really?" Part of Rachel—the highly dramatic side of Rachel—was thrilled at the idea of her life developing into movie material, while another part of her remained confused in just about every other aspect. She didn't understand Quinn's behavior at all. She couldn't even understand her own, constantly teetering on the edge of attraction and loathing.

Not to mention her—what Tina decided to call— "savior-complex" attraction to Sam was slowly being replaced by thoughts of Quinn. Though Rachel would only ever admit that to herself.

"Were things weird today at Dalton? Has anything changed since Saturday?"

Rachel paused mid-stroke across the glass case she happened to be cleaning. No, she supposed, things truly haven't changed. The students still sneered at her and called her commoner at every opportunity, Sugar, Harmony and Kitty in particular. And Sam was acting strangely with her all day, including his lack of help during the glee club meeting—though it was still nothing to warrant alarm. "Not really, no. I mean, at first the F3 ignored me, as expected, but—"

But then Rachel accidentally ran into Brittany, and her conversation with Quinn left her stomach filled with butterflies for the majority of the day. Rachel decided to pass it off as anticipation for Dalton's first Glee club meeting. "But I talked to Quinn this morning." She murmured.  
Tina let out an excited squeal.

"It's not what you think." Rachel rushed out, not wanting her best friend to get the wrong idea. "I just wanted to properly thank her for taking me home Saturday night." Rachel finished, purposely omitting a few details of the story.

"...And?"

"She seemed...surprised." Rachel wrinkled her eyebrows and her voice softened. "Almost like no one has ever genuinely thanked her for something before."

Tina paused, then spoke carefully. "Rachel?"

Rachel hummed that she was listening, absently rubbing cloth against the glass.

"Do you think you would ever—could ever—" Rachel paused her cleaning and glanced up at Tina. "Could you ever consider Quinn...romantically." Tina's voice was quiet. So quiet that if Rachel had not stopped cleaning, Tina's words would have been lost under the sounds of squeaking glass.

Rachel glanced down at her hands, then back to Tina. "No." Was her only reply before she moved on to the next glass case.

"I mean, is it because she's a girl or—"

"No." Rachel sighed. "I mean yes, but no."

Tina looked confused. "But your dads—"

"I know what my dads are, Tina." Rachel snipped a bit too forcefully. "I just have no desire to turn them into a negative statistic any time soon."

She watched as Tina looked down at her shoes, but continued regardless. "And even if that weren't the case, Quinn has an ego the size of her big, stupid, beautiful house. She's more wealthy than ethical! She's a bully with no regard to anyone but herself and unpredictable! I've told you what she's done to me, Tina, so why would you even ask that?"

Rachel's breathing grew heavy by the end of her rant, but she then grew guilty at her own words and the wounded expression on Tina features.

"Sorry I asked."

"I shouldn't have said those things. Not like that."

Tina nodded, her hesitance at restarting the conversation obvious.

Rachel sighed. "I have to be honest with you, because you're my best friend. Well, technically, my only friend."

Tina rolled her eyes good-naturedly.

"While the things I said about Quinn are true, I think I keep repeating them to myself because— because it reminds me of why I shouldn't like her. Why I shouldn't enjoy our arguments, or think she's too beautiful and too smart for her own good. Or that she probably has a really, really sad reason for having the view of life that she has. It keeps me from thinking how much I don't mind that Quinn was my first kiss—" Rachel smacked her hand over her own mouth to stop herself from saying anything more.

Tina smiled, but said nothing to embarrass Rachel any further. Of course Tina already knew that Quinn had been her first kiss, but openly admitting that she didn't really mind it?

Another matter entirely.

Rachel felt her neck and face heat at the thought. She did not and would not like Quinn Fabray. Rachel would make sure of it. And even if—hypothetically, of course—she were to continue developing feelings for Quinn, there was a very, very, small chance that those feelings would actually be returned.

Quinn Fabray, heir of Fabray Enterprises, certainly did not like people like Rachel Berry, no title included. And Rachel was more than willing to pass off the last few encounters as flukes; impulsive decisions that would never be made again, for the sake of her sanity.

As much Rachel hated to admit it, Quinn was a god among demigods in her own world.

A beautifully striking, wealthy, impenetrable, and pompous god.

It was also a world where Rachel was clearly mortal and reminded of it daily. It was exhausting to keep up the facade of self-confidence in a world that she didn't quite belong. She hated that the thought of standing next to Quinn played off of every insecurity she ever had.

Rachel knew that Quinn had never met anyone quite like her before, a middle-class "commoner" with a bold enough personality to stand up to her nonsense. It was Rachel's mission in life to shine, after all. To stand apart from the crowd and to one day be in the spotlight. But Rachel was counting on Quinn's fascination with her to pass.

"Because gods don't fall for mortals," Rachel reminded herself as she forcefully cleaned the glass case, purposely ignoring Tina's concerned gaze. "They merely play with us when boredom strikes."

***

There was a sense of anticipation in the air all week. Rachel's sixth sense was pulsing with it. She could feel it like humidity. But no one else seemed to sense the change in the atmosphere. Kurt still chattered in her ear every morning and lunch hour. Sam still greeted her cordially, but grew noticeably more withdrawn. The second and third Glee club meetings of the week went just as horribly as the first. And Quinn—

Quinn continued to hold Dalton Academy in the palm of her hand. She parted crowds with a flick of her wrist and shut down anyone that displeased her with a glare. She met Rachel's gaze in the mornings, and ignored her in the afternoons. Quinn seemed to be losing interest, as predicted, and life went on as normal. But why did Rachel feel as though something was going to happen soon?

It was Friday during lunch hour when the anxiety became too much for her, but she accepted the invitation from Kurt to sit with the other members of the Glee club in the cafeteria, regardless. She didn't bother mentioning to him that her original plan was to feign sickness just to spend time alone in the nurse's office; away from the anxiety-inducing hustle and bustle of the cafeteria.

The moment Rachel settled herself down into her chair, she felt the familiar chill down her spine before she actually heard Quinn's voice speak her name.

"Rachel."

Ignoring the open-mouthed expressions on her classmates' faces she spun around to greet Quinn cordially with a smile plastered to her features—even if her stomach twisted in something that felt like a mix of longing and fear. This is what kissing someone did to a person, Rachel supposed.

Not to mention that Quinn was incredibly unpredictable, and had not spoken to her at all for the majority of the week.

"Good afternoon, Quinn." Rachel watched Quinn closely when she didn't immediately respond. Her brows were furrowed in what seemed like hesitation, and her hands were clenched together behind her back. If one looked carefully—very carefully—Quinn shoulders were drawn, and the muscles in her neck shifted almost imperceptibly as she worked her jaw. Rachel was beginning to define these actions as a few of Quinn's nervous habits.

"Meet me in front of Breve, two o'clock. Saturday afternoon." Quinn's words came out quickly, and her sentence ended abruptly. It didn't sound organic at all. In fact, it sounded almost—practiced.

Rachel didn't realize that she was gaping upwards at Quinn until she noticed her eyebrow twitch in irritation. Rachel spoke before she could think."What did you just say?"

Quinn's other eyebrow twitched as well. "I'm not going to repeat myself, Berry," Quinn hissed through her teeth. She began to walk away from the lunch table as quickly as she arrived. She paused, however, spinning on her heels and pointing at Rachel in what could only be perceived as a threatening manner.

"Don't be late."


	14. The Date

Quinn Fabray was not a patient person by nature nor by design, simply because Fabray's never had to wait for anything.

Meals would immediately appear with a snap of her fingers and crowds would part with a wave of her hand. The world moved around her like moons in an orbit. Each person had a distinct course that solidified their presence in the universe. Not too close yet not too far away. A simple rule that her world followed since her birth.

Since the very beginning of the Fabray line.

But then there was Rachel Berry—Quinn's personal rogue asteroid—who did not care for the rules or regulations of orbital alignment. Who did not care for the organized structure that Quinn put in place at Dalton Academy.

Who had Quinn Fabray making stupid, stupid planetary metaphors.

Who had the Quinn Fabray, tapping her foot impatiently in front of their agreed upon meeting spot on a surprisingly chilly Saturday afternoon.

Rachel Berry, who is, as of now, one hour and thirty-three minutes late to their date. Not that Quinn was keeping track.

She refused to dig her hands into the warmth of her admittedly thin coat to check her phone, since it would remind her that she had been far too distracted to even think about giving Rachel her phone number during the school week. But she couldn't help that her eyes wandered to the clock tower adjacent to Bréve at every loud tick of the minute hand.

Just as a particularly cold breeze drafted through the plaza, Quinn wrapped her arms around her waist and her eyes once again drifted towards the clock tower.

One hour and thirty-four minutes.

***

She was curious.

That was the only explanation Rachel had to offer to herself for showing up to The Plaza at all. She was late—extremely late—and she couldn't help the guilt that bloomed in her chest at the thought. Because even though Quinn quite rudely invited her to meet in front of Bréve with no further indications of plans afterwards, Rachel knew there was _some semblance_ of one. And Rachel knew that these plans would not be malicious, based on Quinn's most recent behavior. The request to meet Rachel alone in such a beautiful place almost felt...

Date-like.

Rachel felt her steps stumble at the thought. She was only kidding herself, especially because Rachel had made the decision to stand her up anyway.

She battled the idea throughout the morning and partially throughout the afternoon. Even showing up to work—the only place she was technically allowed to go to thanks to her punishment for her drunken evening just a week ago—to battle the restlessness that came with her thoughts of Quinn Fabray.

_  
"You're standing her up!" Tina noted with a glare._

_"I am not!" Rachel snapped, then hesitated when Tina narrowed her eyes. "I was…I was hardly given a choice! I am merely…deciding not to take Quinn up on her demand."_

_"So, you are standing her up." Tina repeated her earlier observation._

_"No I—" Rachel pressed herself against the nearest wall. "I shouldn't have told you about it."_

_Tina smirked. "You haven't stopped talking about it since Friday."_

_"Her audacity!" Rachel stomped her foot and stared down at the floor. "How dare she just demand for me to just show up wherever she tells me? Not to mention I'm grounded because of Quinn Fabray! She does not deserve my time."  
_

Yet here Rachel was, shuffling her feet while sneaking a glance at the chiming clock tower. It was now exactly three and a half hours after the specified meeting time.

The sun had long started to set and the beginnings of a light drizzle began to hit the stone walkways. She adjusted the white scarf around her neck and clutched her jacket closer to her chest as she felt a chill run down her spine that had little to do with the rainy weather.

She was curious, Rachel repeated to herself. It was the sole reason why she made an appearance at the risk of her fathers' fury. It was curiosity that urged her to maybe catch a glimpse at the remnants of Quinn Fabray's plans, although Rachel was beyond certain that Quinn stormed off in a huff just after the clock struck two.

Quinn Fabray waited for no one, after all.

But what met Rachel's sight as she got closer to the demanded upon meeting place made her pause in her steps and blink in disbelief. She even rubbed her eyes to make sure if what she was seeing was not a figment of her imagination. Blonde hair shined brightly under one of the many arced lamps native to The Plaza, and the sharp hazel eyes staring in her direction were immediately recognizable.

Rachel felt a chill run up her spine once more. Quinn Fabray did not look very happy.

***

Quinn was certain Rachel had half a mind to turn around and march right back to her vehicle. On some level, Quinn actually wanted her to. But the swell in her chest at the thought that Rachel had not actually stood up their 'meeting' prevented her from striding over to Rachel and stapling a stupid Red Card on to her forehead.

Because Rachel was beyond late, and Quinn was absolutely furious about it. Though, the sense of relief she felt was unmistakable. What upset Quinn the most was that she knew she looked pitiful. She was huddled in the farthest corner of the wooden bench, her hands were stuffed as deep as possible into the pockets of her ridiculously thin coat, and her once pink lips had turned blue from the cold. And for the life of her, Quinn could not stop shivering. She cursed herself for not having the foresight to check the weather before she left her estate in a floral patterned dress. But then again, Quinn had no intention of waiting three and a half hours outside either.

Pride was the only thing that kept Quinn on that bench. Pride, and the desire to give Rachel Berry a piece of her mind about the lack of respect for another person's time. And after Rachel had been chastised to her liking, activities would continue on as planned. Though at least two activities were cancelled due to time lost and—Quinn felt herself shiver—rainy weather, the dinner reservation on the prestigious top floor of Gershwin still held true. It would be a perfect opportunity to figure things out.

Quinn felt a wave of nervousness at the thought—spending an extended period of time alone with Rachel after leaving her home so hastily just barely a week ago.

Especially after her panic attack and realization about her...feelings.

She almost hated that her throat went dry at the sight of Rachel in her stupid, way-too-colorful coat and ridiculous knit cap perched on her head. Not to mention that the scarf around her neck was completely unnecessary, in Quinn's opinion, even though she was eyeing the warm material in quiet envy.

Rachel finally slowed to a stop in front of her, and Quinn waited as patiently as possible for a proper apology. What fell from Rachel's lips were far from it.

"What are you…why are you still here?"

Quinn felt irritation bubble fiercely in her chest.

"D-Didn't I say not to b-be late, Berry!" Quinn felt the venom of her words before she could stop it. But the stutter nearly ruined the outburst.  
Damn the cold.

Still, Rachel reared back at the force of Quinn's words. "I never actually promised that I would come!"

"Yet, here you are!" Quinn accused as she stood from her seat on the bench. "Do you h-have any idea how long I've been s-sitting here? Any idea?"

"I—" Rachel knew. Quinn was certain that Rachel knew exactly how long Quinn had been waiting. "I actually didn't expect you to still be here."

Quinn clicked her tongue and looked away.

"But," Rachel stepped closer. "Why _are_ you still here?"

"Because," Quinn crossed her arms forcefully, and instantly regretted the loss of heat from her pockets. "Even I knew you weren't stupid enough to a-actually stand me up."

"What?" Rachel's anger flared. "Did you just call me stupid?"

"Clearly, I j-just stated that you _weren't_ stupid. The least you c-could do is apologize for your disrespect of my time."

Rachel clenched her fists, tightened her jaw, and stomped her foot forcefully on the pavement. Quinn squared her shoulders and prepared for the onslaught of Rachel's fury. But then she felt it; her eyes squeezing tight, a tickling in her nose and a deep intake of breath.

Quinn sneezed twice into her elbow.

And then Rachel was looking at her as if she were a box of kittens abandoned on the side of a road.

Quinn couldn't help but to feel self-conscious again about the state she was in; teeth chattering, blue lips and shivering frame. Quinn knew she no longer seemed intimidating, but she was freezing, and the light drizzle was beginning to seep into her clothing.

"Oh Quinn..." Rachel was within Quinn's personal space before she could protest, tugging off her own gloves and pressing her palms against Quinn's neck.  
"W-What are you—" Quinn's stutter had very little to do with the cold this time. Their position seemed pleasantly familiar.

"You're cold as ice!"

"What d-did you—what did you expect, Berry?" Quinn huffed. "It's freezing out here. And now it's r-raining."

Rachel grabbed Quinn's hands and led her towards the entrance of Bréve. "Why in the world didn't you decide to wait inside?"

"Because—" Quinn blinked slowly. She lost her train of thought the moment she glanced down at their joined hands. She flexed her fingers to get blood flowing, certainly not to feel the softness and warmth of Rachel's palm.

Rachel huffed as she tugged her further inside of the building. "You're incredibly stubborn."

"If you had just shown up on t-time..."

"Here," Rachel ignored her and released her hands, thankfully just missing Quinn's look of disappointment. "Take my scarf. It will warm you up."

"I don't need—"

Rachel took it upon herself to wrap it around her neck and idly tuck it just underneath Quinn's coat for her.

"You're still shivering." Rachel murmured as she adjusted Quinn's lapels and smoothed down the material. "I'm sorry."

Truthfully, Quinn was worried that Rachel had gotten into a terrible accident. Or that she was mugged or kidnapped for ransom on Quinn's behalf—a very real possibility. But what worried Quinn the most was the possibility that Rachel did not want to meet her at all. And on some level, Quinn would understand her decision. Behind the false bravado that, being who she was, getting stood up was inconceivable, Quinn knew that the attacks she ordered against Rachel made her extremely untrustworthy.

Yet here Rachel was, unbelievably late, and tenderly tucking her own scarf around Quinn's neck.

She could no longer find it in herself to be upset anymore, especially when Rachel was staring at her with worry as she continued her gentle ministrations. It wasn't until she heard a cough not too far away from their position did she get startled into awareness. She stepped back immediately, putting a more friend-like distance between herself and Rachel. They were in public after all.

"Quinn—"

"I'm fine."

"But you're still shivering!"

"And whose fault is that?" Quinn bit out before she could stop herself, but the three successive sneezes that followed devalued the bite to her words.

Rachel's doe eyes were back. And to stop the feeling of guilt from welling up in her chest, Quinn moved to pull the scarf off of her neck. Rachel halted her immediately.

"Please keep it on. And at least let me…" Quinn's gaze zeroed in on the lower lip Rachel had begun to worry. "Let me treat you to something warm to drink."

"We have dinner reservations at Gershwin's."

Rachel blinked at Quinn. "Dinner?"

"Reservations. On the top floor." Quinn reiterated slowly, eyeing Rachel's expression carefully.

"I know a place, just a few blocks from here."

Quinn growled. "But-"

"You'd never know there would be such a cute coffee house in such a nondescript building. My fathers used to take me for fruit tarts and tea when we couldn't afford to-" Rachel stopped talking and spun abruptly on the spot. She caught her own mistake.

"I mean, I-" Quinn watched as Rachel took a deep breath. "Daddy, Hiram, used to be a lawyer you know." She turned her head in order to eye Quinn carefully. "But he and dad always dreamed of owning their own business. The transition to Berry's Buttons left us with not a lot of on-hand money at the time. But we managed just fine. Even on our new budget, they put me through vocal training, acting lessons and dance classes." Rachel took another deep breath, then added slowly. "It's good coffee."

Rachel's message was clear, _"I am not to be pitied."_

"Fine. _Fine_." Quinn murmured impatiently after a moment of staring at the back of Rachel's knitted cap. "I'll never let you live it down if the coffee is crappy."

She watched Rachel slowly turn around as she fiddled with her coat buttons. "It's the third floor of the building." Rachel responded cautiously. "With rooftop access two floors above it. The best view of the city actually."

Quinn scoffed quietly as they began to make their way out of the building. She highly doubted it.

***

"So you sing." Quinn stated rather than asked. She just managed to stop herself from wincing at just how…boring she sounded.

"So you're a wealthy heiress to a rather large corporation." Rachel responded, then paused with a small smile. "This will be a highly uninteresting outing if we are going to continue stating the obvious, Quinn."

Quinn nodded in agreement as she wound her fingers around her coffee cup for added heat to her extremities. Her body temperature was finally rising to a normal level, partially due to the warm confines of the coffee shop, and partially due to Rachel's thick scarf tucked around her neck; it smelled of vanilla, brown sugar, and a scent that was _distinctly_ Rachel.

Quinn felt warmth. She felt it spread from the tips of her ears to the tips of her toes, especially at the thought of just how tenderly Rachel stepped into her personal space and wrapped the scarf around her neck.

She felt taken care of.

"That can't be all you know about me." Quinn continued with a raised eyebrow, shaking the foreign feeling from her head. "You can find out much more by picking up a brightly colored teen magazine of your choice."

Rachel leaned forward. "And what exactly would I find in the pages of a 'brightly colored' teen magazine about Quinn Fabray?"

Quinn understood that Rachel was poking fun at her, but played along anyway. "That I enjoy long walks along the shores of the Cíes Islands. That I enjoy sipping Perrier-Jouët during my numerous visits to five star hotels overseas. That I am currently dating…" Quinn began to count on her fingers. "One, two…six members of five different boy bands around the world. I'm also a mistress to a West European prince, and currently dating a married actor. I'm quite the harlot, apparently."

"Hardly true." Rachel waved Quinn off with a blush. "But I think it's funny that these magazines have paired you off with all of these wealthy and highly recognized people when you _really_ prefer," Rachel's voice dropped down to a whisper. "Kissing 'commoners' in restaurant bathrooms."

Quinn stiffened as her eyes darted from left to right, quickly surveying the area for eavesdroppers. Though Rachel's statement was incredibly accurate, she had no desire for the words to drift to unwanted ears. Gender neutral or not.

"Maybe." Quinn murmured, her spine still refusing to revert back to its natural curve.

"So," Rachel cleared her throat after a brief moment of silence. She must have sensed Quinn's discomfort. "Is there anything else that they say about you in these teen magazines? 'Quinn Fabray is an entitled, snobbish heiress who throws her power around for personal gain,' perhaps?"

Quinn rolled her eyes. "Well it does say that my favorite color is green. I wear it quite nicely, according to fashion commentators."

"I can see that." Rachel nodded solemnly. "It would compliment your beautiful eye color perfectly—"

Rachel's eyes widened and fell silent as she began to tug at the ends of her hair.

"I like books." Quinn murmured to break the awkward silence. When Rachel tilted her head curiously, she continued on. "You said that all you knew about me was that I'm wealthy, and a few...other insults." Her words were rushed and slightly jumbled, a far cry from the careful speech and near perfect annunciation that she was known for. "Well, I like to read."  
"I think I kind of figured that out about you." Rachel looked pointedly into her tea cup.

Quinn raised an eyebrow, silently pushing Rachel to continue.

"I-I mean. I see you reading all of the time. You were reading when I came to your lounge to talk to Brittany about the Glee club." Quinn hummed at this, remembering that she paused her reading to eavesdrop on the conversation. Not that they were being secretive about it anyway. "And I always see you reading over the banister at lunch."

Blood rose to the tips of Quinn's ears. Rachel did not need to know that she used her book as a cover to discreetly observe Rachel's interactions with her peers.

Rachel's interactions with _Sam, in particular_. Quinn took a sip of her coffee to hide her reddening face.

"You've also started to read on the balance beam in the gym during Physical Education."

Quinn let out a puff of laughter. Little did Rachel know that her 'reading' (carefully hidden glares towards Sugar Motta and Harmony Hall) had prevented any further injuries to her nose during their sports hour.

But Quinn was truly being honest when she stated that she enjoyed to read.

_"Imagine if everyone found out that you're actually a closeted book worm. Damn nerd."_

One of Santana's many jibes echoed in her thoughts. Quinn's lips lifted into a smirk. She did find that the words on the worn pages of her prized novels held much more of her attention than the lemmings that followed the F3 around on a daily basis. But lately...it had been hard to concentrate on the words of Jane Eyre when a certain commoner was always around to distract her.

"I mean," Rachel continued slowly. "I've seen the way you interact with your books. How you—" Rachel tapped her fingers against her cup. "How nothing else seems to matter when you're reading them."

"You've been watching me." Quinn stated, swiping the napkin previously folded across her thigh across her lips. She couldn't quite hide her smug look.

Rachel, yet again, tugged the ends of her hair. Quinn figured that this was a nervous habit. "No, not necessarily. I mean, they _are_ common areas, Quinn! Not to mention that we happen to share a physical education course together. Well, we share the gymnasium at least. Besides, it's hard not to notice you. Certainly when everyone has taken up the habit of gasping every time you enter a room. Who does that? Do you even notice when people do it anymore?"

Quinn shrugged her shoulders. She actually didn't notice anymore, but she was much more interested in the fact that Rachel watched her enough to pick up on her 'reading' habits. Perhaps her fixation on Rachel was not entirely one-sided. Especially if Rachel's drunken actions just a week prior had anything to say about it.

She crossed her legs underneath the table and rested a hand on her cheek.

Their conversation fell silent.

"I have to ask you, Quinn, since my dads always told me that honesty was the best policy in any interaction."

Quinn hummed noncommittally.

Rachel paused, then took a deep breath. "What is this?"

Quinn blinked. "What is what?"

"This," Rachel waved her hand between the two of them. "We're...Quinn, what is this happening between us?"

"What is 'this' supposed to mean?" She forced between her teeth, irritated that their pleasant conversation was cut short thanks to Rachel's need to _talk about things_.

Especially when it was not on Quinn's own terms.

"To be frank, this feels like a date—"

"Can you _not_ —" Quinn hissed quietly as her eyes darted around the coffee house. "—have such a big mouth, for _once_ in your life."

Quinn missed Rachel's flinch when she shot a particularly nasty glare at the barista who just happened to glance in their direction.

"Quinn, I—"

"This is _not_ whatever you think this is, Berry." Her glare shifted towards Rachel. Quinn was lying. She knew she was lying, even though Rachel's assumption about the nature of their meeting was accurate. But fear had a grip so strong that Quinn felt like she could hardly breathe. The thought of anyone catching wind of anything more than platonic going on with Rachel...

Quinn felt her back stiffen at the thought, suddenly aware of at least three sets of eyes carefully observing their heated interaction. She felt her throat begin to tighten, and a replay of their current argument began to play in her head, analyzing the dialogue for any incriminating details that could be taken out of context and reveal the true meaning of their conversation. Quinn's limbs began to feel heavy, and her breathing began to quicken. Her thoughts were beginning to move in and out of her conscious at an alarming rate.

This feeling was all too familiar.

She clenched her fists under the table and the words spilled from her throat before she could stop it. "To think, I'm actually trying to be nice for once and you go and turn this into some fantasy of yours—"

"Stop lashing out at me." Rachel's tone was even. "We both know you're not being completely honest."

Quinn stood from her seat. "What do you know, _commoner_." The words were flowing without her consent. She knew how Rachel felt about that particular word, but she spat the venom regardless. The strange feeling of dualism swept through her; she felt like she could do nothing but watch herself in horror as she said one hurtful thing after another.

Rachel stood from her seat as well, eyes now blazing. "Back to commoner now, Quinn? I'm beginning to see a pattern.

"Again," Quinn hissed. "What do you know." It was as if her fear had a mind of its own.

"I _know_ that you're bringing much more attention to ourselves by not being truthful about your intentions rather than having a civil conversation about it. Take a look around." Rachel murmured irritably.

Quinn did not need to look around to know that she was being watched. Their eyes felt as realistic as roaming hands. She shivered, despising the lack of privacy and wishing that she could once more become oblivious to the people around her.

"Quinn."

Hearing her name jolted her from her thoughts, but did not stop the compression in her chest.

"We should probably have this conversation in a more secluded area. Don't you agree?"

Quinn heard Rachel's words, but did not quite register what was said. Still, her body acted of its own accord, and her head nodded at the mention of seclusion.

She watched as Rachel backed away with a concerned look."Quinn? Are you coming?"

"I need—" Quinn flexed her fingers and sucked in a breath of air as she took another glance around the coffee house. She needed to regain control of herself, so she fought through the fog that had begun to cloud her mind. The few people who were previously focused on their conversation had quickly lost interest and their focus fell back to their steaming mugs of hot beverages and their own murmured conversations. Still, their lack of interest did not stop Quinn's hands from shaking as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, since the petty, self-absorbed, part of her subconscious was causing her to believe their murmured conversations were all about her. It _always_ seemed to be about her.

Quinn felt like she was thirteen years old again, staring at the headlines of her parent's divorce. Followed by stares, whispers, and camera flashes everywhere that she went.

"I-I'll follow you in a moment." Quinn knew her voice sounded unsteady, but she forced an even gaze toward Rachel anyway.

"The rooftop? It stopped drizzling quite a while ago." Rachel hesitated, seeming to sense a shift in Quinn's mental state. But Quinn held her ground and Rachel nodded resolutely. "I'll be waiting, then."

Quinn nodded and let out a shaky breath she did not realize that she was holding. She watched as Rachel disappeared through what she assumed to be the stairwell leading to the roof, needing just a few moments to gather herself for the upcoming conversation.

***

"You confuse me, Quinn." Rachel murmured the moment Quinn clicked the door to the rooftop shut after several moments of deep breathing alone in the coffee shop. Rachel was faced away from her, knees drawn to her chest, eyes towards the city. Her tone wasn't what Quinn imagined it would be, full of anger and indignation. Instead, her voice sounded resigned. "You're a confusing person, and I don't think that this is ever going to change."

Quinn pressed her back against the door, still not quite ready join Rachel's side. Several moments passed before Quinn decided to respond. "I—" Her words were stuck in her throat, as they were words rarely spoken. "Downstairs, my words were unnecessary and…"

_'Not truthful,'_ She thought to herself.

"I did not mean to snap at you, Rachel."

Rachel remained silent.

Quinn breathed a heavy sigh. "You have no idea what it's like…" She lifted a hand to unconsciously finger the fringes of Rachel's scarf. "... always being watched. To always—"

"Come sit down." Rachel gently interrupted, still facing the city. "This part of the roof is already dry."

"In a moment. I'm still…" Quinn gazed at Rachel's profile as she turned to better hear Quinn's words. "Breathing."

"That's fine." Rachel faced the city once more. "I certainly appreciate the drama of not looking at one another as we converse."

Quinn huffed.

"You kissed me." Rachel blurted before any silence had a chance to settle between them. Quinn felt her muscles seize out of habit, even though they were the only ones on the roof.

Rachel was getting right to the point.

"And you kissed me." Quinn managed quietly.

"So…" Rachel paused. "What exactly does this mean?"

"Nothing," slipped from her mouth before she could accidentally utter, _'Everything.'_

"You and I both know that this is far from _nothing_."

"You have no idea what I'm thinking."

"And this is exactly why I am trying to figure this out." Rachel finished firmly. "I never know what you're thinking."

Quinn silently pushed herself away from the door and made her way towards Rachel.

"You're the most unpredictable person that I know, Quinn. I don't understand how you can—"

With a better view of Rachel's face, Quinn watched as Rachel's gaze dropped to her knees as she lowered herself onto the concrete.

"I don't understand how you can turn the entire school against me one day, then...then press me up against the bathroom wall the next. How you can...insult my living class in one moment, then carry me home while in a drunken haze and sleep next to my bed to make sure that I was okay, the next."

Quinn felt the beginnings of migraine at the base of her neck. She did not want to talk about any of this. This is not what today was supposed to be about. Her internal thoughts were already a mess to go through, and saying it out loud added a sense of reality to their situation.

A reality that she was not quite ready to face head on as of yet.

Today's date—meeting was meant to be an experiment: Were Quinn's feelings for Rachel worth any repercussions? So far her conclusion had been indefinite, but she had to admit that she actually enjoyed Rachel's presence, and that a small part of her was craving physical contact with the girl again. Just remembering Rachel gently tucking her scarf around Quinn's neck, and how Rachel took her hand and gently led her to the entrance of Bréve caused her face to flush.

The thought of kissing Rachel again…

Quinn felt her stomach flip at the memory.

"Can we just—" Quinn had to stop her thoughts from going any further. "Take this one day at a time?"

"This, as in…"

Quinn growled in frustration as she dragged a hand through her hair. "I honestly don't know, okay? I really don't know. All I know is that..." After a lengthy pause, Quinn lowered the volume of her voice. Honesty was probably her best bet at this point. "Well, this is why I invited you here...essentially."

"And have you figured it out?"

Quinn let out a humorless laugh. "If anything, I'm even more confused."

Rachel turned to face Quinn fully. "I have a proposition for you."

Quinn turned to face Rachel as well. "Okay…"

"I think we skipped a number of steps here. I think..." She began to tug at the ends of her hair. "I think we should become friends."

Quinn frowned before she could stop it. A friendship didn't sound like there would be much kissing involved.

Rachel nodded to herself, Quinn's expression going unnoticed. "Yes, a friendship sounds good."

"I don't understand."

"I think we're trying to...cross bridges that have not been built yet," Rachel began, unknowingly echoing Santana's words just days ago. "And that has contributed to our current lack of clarity. The truth is, Quinn, my view of you is still predominantly negative thanks to our first few encounters with each other. What you've done to me...is not easily forgotten."

Quinn rolled her eyes, irritated. "I thought we were over this. I got rid of your Red Card weeks ago."

"Yet you still haven't actually apologized for giving it to me in the first place!"

" _I_ should _apologize_? For your blatant disrespect of me?"

" _D-Disrespect_?" Rachel sputtered as she scrambled from the ground. Her eyes blazed with anger, and it was in that moment that Quinn realized she had just made a big mistake. Rachel pointed an accusatory finger at Quinn's nose. "Disrespect! _You_ alienated me! _You_ had me _abused_ by the student body! I was hurt by those boys! If it weren't for Sam, who knows how far it would have gone?" Quinn watched as Rachel took in a shaky breath. "I _despised_ you, Quinn Fabray. I told myself...I told myself that you were a manipulative, power hungry, self-absorbed girl who treated people no better than the dirt beneath her shoes. A girl who felt _threatened_ because I would _not_ let her treat me in the terrible way she treated others."

"Rachel," Quinn warned as she stood with just a tad more grace than Rachel had just moments before. "If you think you—"

"You will let me finish, Quinn Fabray!" Rachel demanded with such force that Quinn reared back and was stunned into silence. "So help me, I will get this off my chest."

Quinn nodded.

"You say you did all of this because of my _disrespect_ to you? I was standing up for myself! I was standing up for my friend! God, I was so, _so_ mad at you!" Rachel stomped her foot to emphasize her point. "Mad at you, and everything you seemed to stand for. I was _terrified_ of you! Terrified of just what you could do with all that power you seemed to throw around so carelessly. I wanted to leave Dalton Academy and never come back! As a matter of fact," She adjusted her knitted cap forcefully against a particularly strong gust of wind. "I didn't even want to come to Dalton in the first place because of you! Because of the F3! Because of what the F3 did to that boy, Finn Hudson…"

Finn Hudson, Kurt Hummel's half brother, son of Burt Hummel and Carole Hudson-Hummel. His Red Card was incurred by Santana's wrath, not her own. An ill-timed insult to Brittany's intelligence sealed his fate, and truthfully, Quinn was not concerned about him. Rachel, however...

"And then," Rachel's voice lowered to a normal volume after a lengthy pause, interrupting Quinn's thoughts. "There was that day I was hit with the volleyball and you...you tried to help me clean myself up. And the day you kissed me at Gershwin's? I didn't—I had no idea what to feel. At Holly—Franny's party, I saw you watching me that night. I saw the look of concern on your face when Sam helped me out of the pool those awful girls pushed me in. I didn't want to believe it. Something at the back of my mind told me that there might be something more to Quinn Fabray than just being bully. It was that look on your face that pushed me to..." Rachel's voice lowered to a whisper. "I kissed you."

Quinn stood frozen on the spot as Rachel took a step forward. "And that same night, I remember you carrying me into my home; you were so gentle. And you stayed by me to make sure that I was okay. This Quinn Fabray was nothing like the one I thought I despised. Don't get me wrong, this Quinn was still an obnoxious, ostentatious, heiress." Rachel chuckled humorlessly. "But this Quinn…" Rachel peered down at her shoes. "This Quinn seemed so much easier to forgive. I told myself, 'I can forgive her if she would just apologize. If she would just admit that what she did to me was awful, I would…" Rachel fell silent.

After a long pause, Quinn finally murmured, "You would what?"

Rachel shrugged her shoulders, refusing to finish her statement. "Don't think for a moment that you're the first bully I've ever encountered, because you are not. And I can guarantee you that you will not be the last."

A wave of protectiveness swept over Quinn at Rachel's words. She would be the last bully if she could help it.

"However, I'm the first me you've ever encountered. I am an anomaly, something different. Someone who was not afraid to stand up to you. I told myself that whatever... _things_ you may be feeling towards me would pass as boredom struck, then things would go back to normal. But...I realized that I didn't like that feeling at all! And then you asked, no you demanded that I show up here—how you did that was completely unacceptable, by the way. And the stubborn part of me did not want to give you the time of day. The stubborn part of me...did not want to face whatever this meant, because the stubborn part of me was...is not quite ready to forgive you yet. At least not until there is meaningful change in your behavior."

Rachel seemed to deflate at the end of her lengthy speech, her energy spent in a flurry of emotions. "I guess my point is," She sighed. " I want to start over and...we should try to be friends. But all I really want is a simple, genuine apology before that could happen. Before _anything_ could happen."

Rachel finally lifted her gaze from her shoes to Quinn's face, but then her eyes widened in shock. "Quinn?" She moved to take a step forward, but then hesitated. "Are you...are those tears?"

Quinn's eyes widened as her hand shot to her own cheek, and sure enough, her fingers came away with a surprising amount of moisture. She could not stop the gasp that escaped her lips, and quickly used her other hand to try to wipe the remaining tears away. How had she been crying without even realizing it?

"I'm not...I didn't…" Quinn did not even know where to begin. Her emotions were in a whirlwind thanks to Rachel's outburst. A sniffle that was not her own interrupted her thoughts. She swiped a palm over her eyes to clear her vision, only to see Rachel mirroring her actions. "Why are _you_ crying?" Quinn questioned in disbelief, stamping the urge to cross into Rachel's personal space and wipe away her tears herself. "You shouldn't be crying."

Rachel let out a strange mix of a choke and a laugh, followed by another sniffle. "I know I'm not supposed to be crying, but did you hear my speech? My acting instructor would be pleased that I moved even the coldest person to tears."

Quinn let out and incredulous sound. "Seriously?"

"Honestly, Quinn?" Rachel tugged at the ends of her hair. "This is something that I've been carrying around for a long time."

A long silence settled between them, broken only by the occasional sniffle from both Rachel and herself. A cold wind swept over the rooftop causing the two of them to instinctively move closer to one another, now only inches apart. The chill that remained from the rain earlier that evening reminded Quinn that she had not fully recovered from her three and half hour wait for Rachel.

Quinn knew that she deserved it, regardless.

"I'm sorry, Rachel." She whispered, causing Rachel's eyes to widen in shock.

"Don't," Rachel gaze dropped to the ground. "Don't say it if you don't mean it. Please don't."

Quinn felt a wave of irritation and immediately cupped Rachel's chin to lift her gaze back to her own. She wanted Rachel confident in her own words. "I mean it," Quinn stated firmly. "I owe you an apology for the way that I treated you." Quinn paused to choose her words carefully. Even though she regretted what she had done to Rachel, she wasn't nearly as forgiving to the rest of her peers. "The way you were treated by me was undeserved and my actions towards you were uncalled for." She finally released her grip on Rachel's chin after gaining confidence that she would hold her gaze on her own.

"Brittany told me that I wouldn't see those boys again. Do I—" Rachel whispered, still tugging at her hair. "Do I want to know what you did to them?"

"Rachel, you have to know, I told them specifically not to harm you physically."

"I know. And I believe you Quinn."

"They were idiots." Quinn hissed with narrowed eyes. "So my answer to you is no, you don't want to know what I did to them. And for the record, I should not have asked anything of them in the first place. I put you in a terrible situation and…" Quinn clenched her fists at the memory of that incident. "I take full responsibility for that. I'm so sorry, Rachel."

Quinn watched as Rachel paused, perhaps contemplating the legitimacy of her apology. When she finally nodded her head in acceptance, Quinn released a breath that she did not realize she was holding in. The look of contemplation did not leave Rachel, however, and Quinn watched in bemusement as an internal debate played across Rachel's face.  
She had had never seen anyone quite so expressive.

"So…" Rachel started, her shoes seemed to be much more interesting than whatever she had to say. "Are we friends?"

"Yes." Quinn answered carefully, still not quite content with the limitations of that title, but grateful for it nonetheless.

"And friends...they hug, don't they?"

Quinn felt her arms twitch in anticipation at the question. "I believe that is in the criteria, yes."

"I'm going to hug you now." Rachel warned. And before Quinn could respond, she was stepping in and wrapping her arms around Quinn's waist.

Quinn stiffened as an initial reaction even though the hug was expected. But when her arms wound themselves around Rachel's shoulders and her added warmth began to seep into Quinn's clothing, she wondered why she would ever be uncomfortable with this in the first place. She inhaled deeply, suddenly feeling relaxed, and unconsciously pulled Rachel flush against her body. Neither made any move to release the other. Quinn sniffled before she realized what she had done.

"Quinn." Rachel murmured against Quinn's shoulder. "You're still crying."

She was not crying. Crying was messy, undignified. Quinn had tears in her eyes; elegant tears, there was a difference. But she still was not quite sure why moisture continued to gather at the corner of her eyes. Perhaps she was just mentally exhausted. "Fabray's do not cry."

"You're ridiculous," Rachel huffed. "And annoyingly pompous."

Quinn smiled. "You're over-dramatic and annoyingly opinionated."

"This friendship is going to be disastrous."

Quinn hummed in agreement against Rachel's temple. "But only because I can't exactly kiss you to get you to stop talking, can I?" Quinn froze the moment she let the words slip out of her mouth and moved to release herself from Rachel, but Rachel's grip tightened around her waist.

"No," Rachel shifted her upper body so that her eyes met Quinn's. " I guess you can't."

This time, Quinn froze for an entirely different reason. She could not quite stop her eyes from darting to Rachel's lips before focusing back on her gaze. And she could not quite stop the small amount of thrill that shot through her when she watched as Rachel did the same. Rachel, to Quinn's disappointment, pulled completely out of the embrace after several tense moments just as The Plaza's clock tower chimed in the distance.

"It feels late." Rachel looked worried as she began to dig into the pockets of her jacket. "Do you happen to have the time, Quinn? I cannot seem to find my phone."  
"Sure." Quinn frowned at her current lack of warmth as she dug into her coat pocket. When she finally fished out her phone, she was met only by the dim reflection of herself from the string of lights along the rooftop railing. She tried her power button several times before she concluded that it had no power. "My battery is out…"

Rachel's brow line scrunched in confusion as she began to search with more urgency. "Maybe I left it downstairs or...maybe in the car...". Rachel muttered to herself as she made her way towards the rooftop door. "And it's freezing up here!" She clutched the collar of her jacket at the sudden gust of wind. Quinn fared no better, and she was just as eager to get back to the warmth of the surprisingly quaint coffee shop, even with Rachel's scarf wrapped snug around her neck.

Once Rachel finally reached the door, Quinn watched in confusion as Rachel tugged once, twice, then three times on the handle of the door.

"Um, Quinn? I don't think...I can't open the door."

Quinn huffed in amusement as she strode forward to stand by Rachel's side. Wordlessly, she shouldered Rachel until she stepped back, allowing Quinn full control of the door handle.  
She pulled once. The door did not budge. Quinn's second and third attempts fared no better.  
"I told you." Rachel uttered smartly. "I think it's stuck."

"It...doesn't...feel...stuck." Quinn's words interspersed with her tugging. "I think it's locked."

"Absolutely not!" Rachel shouldered Quinn out of the way to have her hand at the door once again. "They would not lock us up here. People know that we're up here, right?

"Of course they wouldn't. They're not idiots."

Quinn was hit with the realization that if there was a chance that the door was indeed locked, both her and Rachel would be stuck—without access to their phones—in the cold until one of the insolent workers who locked them up there in the first place, came to unlock the door in the morning. Rachel seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

They gave each other a panicked glance and began to bang on the door in tandem.

Their panicked state lasted for several minutes, each taking turns at trying and yelling for anyone to come unlock the door. They both made a lap around the rooftop, searching for a way down. But the five story building was much more intimidating to Quinn than she would admit, and its fire escape was so severely rusted that she was sure that it would not end well for either of them if they tried to climb down it. She made a silent note to do everything in her power to get this hazardous building with moronic employees, shutdown. And it was only a matter of time until she and Rachel began to turn on each other out of pure frustration.

"I would not be surprised if you did this, you know." Rachel huffed with her hands stuffed deep into her pockets. It seemed to be getting colder by the minute. "You did kidnap me. What would stop you from purposely locking us up here? How convenient is it that I don't have my phone and yours is dead."

Quinn rolled her eyes at the memory. "You knocked yourself out, remember? And do you think I would do something this stupid? It's freezing up here. How do I know this isn't something crazy you thought up? It was your brilliant idea to come up here in the first place."

They continued to bicker throughout their meaningless effort to get downstairs from the rooftop, though Quinn noticed something about the way their communication had shifted. The underlying bitterness was gone, and their quips held a sense of playfulness that was not quite there before. She understood that despite their 'fresh' start, trust would need to be built upon this friendship, but the lack of heaviness from their past interactions felt...nice. Quinn had to wonder if Rachel had really forgiven her, though. But only because if Quinn had been in a similar position, she would not be so kind.

"I'm going to be in so much trouble." Rachel breathed as she collapsed onto the concrete floor. Both of their fists were red from hitting the door, and their voices raw from their calls for help. Quinn followed and settled closely beside her.

"You were grounded." Quinn concluded.

Rachel nodded in confirmation.

Rachel's father, Hiram, did not seem very happy at the state she was brought home after Franny's welcome home party, after all. And although Quinn never had that punishment herself, she understood that there were consequences if such rules were broken. She tried not to think about the fact she could never picture her own mother worrying for her like that. "And we're stuck up here until someone can come unlock the door."  
"I'm going to be in so much trouble." Rachel repeated with a sigh.

A comfortable silence settled between them as Quinn took in the admittedly beautiful view of the city. Though she would never tell Rachel outright, the view from the top floor of the Fabray Enterprises building in New York City held a much more breathtaking sight; she wondered if Rachel would be interested in seeing it one day.

Quinn caught herself wondering a lot about Rachel Berry these days.

"Hey, Quinn?" Rachel murmured, unable to meet her eyes.

Quinn faced her silently.

"I'm...I'm pretty cold, to be honest."

"So am I." Quinn observed Rachel for a moment, then shifted to observe her surroundings. "There's a slight incline towards the edge of the roof. If we sit against the wall beneath the railing...maybe it will help to cut out some of the wind. It doesn't look too damp either."

Rachel nodded, rubbing her hands together. "We might be stuck up here for a while."

Quinn hummed. "Maybe even until the morning." She tilted her head curiously when Rachel began to gnaw at her bottom lip. "What is it?"

"I've read somewhere that...well...if people are trapped in poor weather conditions, body heat helps to stave off….hypothermia." She finished lamely.

Slightly annoyed and somehow charmed by her nervousness, Quinn settled a hand over Rachel's, stilling her movement. But then Rachel's words sunk in, and her mind felt as though it were hit by a jolt electricity. There were several blissful moments of emptiness where a single thought did not cross her mind. But just as quickly, it felt as if a generator began to turn the delicate cogs of her brain and all of her thoughts began to flood at once.

All thoughts of just what Rachel meant by her words just moments before.

Her body reacted much more quickly than her thoughts, however, indicated by the contraction of core muscles that felt ridiculously like butterflies, and the rapid thud of her heart against her rib cage.

"Is—" Quinn swallowed several times in order to buy time to organize her thoughts. Her, hand, still settled over Rachel's, unconsciously tightened. "Is that right?"

"Yes," Rachel nodded quickly. "Dad—Leroy, he's obsessed with survival television shows. Together, we've picked up quite a bit of knowledge of what to do in situations such as this one."

As Rachel continued to ramble, Quinn's thoughts began to solidify once more. There were several things that she was still attempting to process, but Rachel's body heat suggestion took the forefront. And Quinn, no matter how muddled her state of mind, was never one to miss a perfect opportunity when it presented itself.

"Come here." Quinn interrupted quietly as she stood, shifting her hand to grip one of Rachel's in order to help her off the ground. They moved quickly towards the edge of the roof, and Quinn settled herself on the cold concrete against the wall. When Rachel didn't immediately follow she raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

Rachel shuffled her feet. "W-Which side? Should I—"

Quinn huffed and opened her arms expectantly. She blamed her most recent short circuit for her lowered inhibitions. And truthfully, Quinn was far too tired of fighting herself to over-think her actions.

Quinn also suspected that she was beginning to develop a fever.

"Your...your lap?"

Rachel's hesitation caused a slight waver in Quinn's outstretched arms and she bit back her growl of irritation at her own insecurity. "It was your idea, wasn't it?"

"Yes, but—"

"We're friends now, right?" Quinn let out a sigh as she lowered her arms.

Rachel paused. "Yes."

"You're cold, I'm freezing. And you're the one that suggested that we…" Quinn sighed. "Friend's don't let each other freeze to death, right?"

Rachel nodded mutely.

Quinn extended her arms once more and repeated firmly, "Come here."

***

"Quinn?" She heard Rachel whisper against her neck, but Quinn had pretended to even out her breathing just moments before. She truly just wanted to relish holding Rachel flush against her in silence, even if the circumstances were not to her liking. She felt Rachel shiver and shift impossibly closer towards her when yet another cold wind swept over the rooftop.

"Good. You're asleep." Rachel shifted her body weight and began to toy with the ends of Quinn's hair. "Asking for friendship...this is good." She felt Rachel nod against her neck and felt her fingers trail to the lapels of her coat. "It's for the best."

Quinn wasn't quite sure if her shiver was from the cold or from Rachel's gentle touch. She hoped that Rachel assumed the former.

"The truth is," Rachel sighed. "I can't like you. I mean I—" Rachel began to finger the buttons on Quinn's coat. "I'm not ready to like you, Quinn."

Quinn's curiosity and the sensation of Rachel's fingertips could no longer allow her to falsify her sleep. "Explain."

Rachel huffed. "I knew you weren't sleeping."

"Still waiting."

She felt Rachel take a deep breath. "You…are you, Quinn Fabray. And I am me, Rachel Berry."

"And?"

Rachel adjusted herself to peer up at Quinn curiously. "How typical would that be? We are a living, breathing, literary trope. I am the 'poor commoner' who falls for the 'wealthy, uncouth, bachelor'. Or 'bachelorette' I suppose."

Quinn felt herself scoff out loud before she could help it. "Uncouth," She murmured with a shake of her head. "We are not just some trope. I am Quinn Fabray, and you…" Her fingers squeezed Rachel's waist. "And you are Rachel Berry."

Another chill swept the rooftop as Rachel's grip on Quinn tightened. "You're oversimplifying things a bit, aren't you?"

"Yes." Quinn was oversimplifying things, but only to fend off the repeat of the mild panic attack she had just a few hours earlier. Keeping it simple kept herself from over-thinking the warm feeling of Rachel tucked and curled tightly within her grip. "And I refuse to allow myself to be compared to some hackneyed romance novel."

They both fell silent, their bodies taking in as much warmth as possible from each other in order to fight off the cold. Quinn's breathing began to even as she felt her body become heavy with sleep despite the chilly rooftop. Something at the back of her mind warned her that this was not a good thing, but she was far too exhausted to fight for alertness.

"You want this to be our story," Quinn felt more than heard Rachel mutter against her neck. "And no one else's."

Quinn did not quite know if she responded to the statement before her world went black.

**Author's Note:**

> It's about time I got this up on Ao3 :)


End file.
